


The Soldier & the Shield

by penmarks



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Bucky Barnes / Steve Rogers, CA:CW - Freeform, Captain America - Freeform, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Steve Rogers-centric, Stucky - Freeform, stevebucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 11:50:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7049344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penmarks/pseuds/penmarks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As maybe the world's leading authority on waiting too long -- don't."</p><p>In which Steve and Bucky try to work out how to pick up where they left off. However, their struggle is even further complicated by the fact that Bucky Barnes can't seem to shake the Winter Soldier lurking beneath the surface.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**IT WAS A QUIET NIGHT.**

Steve had turned in early, bored of everything on TV and of his surroundings. Shacking up with Sam was getting old fast. It often left Steve exhausted by the end of the day, mostly because Sam wasn't  _actually_  living at Steve's place, he only dropped by often enough to make it feel that way. He and Bucky usually spent their days drinking on Steve's couch. The two of them had become practically inseparable since Sam had overcome his initial discomfort with having Bucky around.

Since Bucky was technically homeless—aside from his musty apartment in Romania that was undoubtedly still under surveillance—Steve was more than happy to have taken him in. Any opportunity to keep an eye on his lifelong partner was one that Steve would take. It hadn't been easy convincing Bucky to stick around or to get Sam to trust him. Somehow, things had worked out in Steve's favor.

It was nights like these that he wished Sam still held a bit of contempt for Bucky, if not for any other reason than for the benefit of Steve's rest.

Despite trying for hours, he couldn't find sleep. He had laid in bed and listened to the drunken banter between his two best friends in the living room. He didn't realize how tense he had been until he heard the front door close, followed by the sound of a very tipsy Sam Wilson hailing a taxi on the street below.

Only then could Steve keep his eyes shut for more than a few minutes. He didn't even realize that he had dozed off until he was jolted awake several hours later. The room was still dark when he opened his eyes, unsure of what had interrupted his much-needed slumber..

It didn't take much. Often, it was something as small as a stray cat jumping onto the fire escape, the toilet flushing, or a passing siren.

Steve pried himself from his mattress and silently pulled his shield from beneath the bed. His feet hit the hardwood floor noiselessly as he crossed the room. He opened the bedroom door without a sound and began to creep toward the kitchen, trying hard to keep his breathing even and his heartbeat steady. He could make out a few small noises; cups rattling, bare feet moving across the tile. Though he couldn't make out who was making them or why, especially at the late hour.

Steve peeked around the corner to see one of the kitchen lights on. Bucky stood beneath it in front of the stove.

"Buck?" Steve whispered, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

This had happened before. A subtle sound in the middle of the night after Sam had left that woke Steve from a dead sleep. Bucky had been lurking around the apartment with a loaded gun, trembling, mumbling a mess of English and Russian. It ended with a bullet grazing Steve's ear and Bucky leaving for nearly a month and hardly speaking when he returned. Things had just started getting back to some kind of normalcy, and Steve found himself dreading a repeat of the incident.

The Winter Soldier was still hibernating inside Bucky Barnes. Lurking, preying on moments of weakness and springing at the opportunity for an assassination attempt. As good as they all were getting at keeping him at bay, he still came out in the dark of night after everyone had gone to bed, usually in the form of violent night terrors.

"Bucky?" Steve said a little louder. He took a couple cautious steps into the kitchen, his shield raised to protect his head if needed.

The shadowy man at the stove recoiled, a ceramic mug slipped from his hand and dropping to the tiled floor, subsequently shattered.

"Jesus, Steve!" Bucky hissed as he ripped a pair of headphones from his ears. He turned to look at Steve, a rollercoaster of emotions washed across his face. His eyes seemed to trace his best friend's tensed facial features and body language before locking on the shield. "What are you—?"

"What? Oh—" Steve relaxed a bit but he didn't drop the shield to his side. "I—I didn't know if you... Um... "

He took a deep breath and scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. Bucky's brow furrowed deeper with clear realization.

"I didn't mean to wake you up. Sorry."

Bucky pushed his tangled hair from his face and knelt down to clean up the shattered mug, his jaw set and his nostrils flared.

"Here," Steve said He lowered himself to the floor and offered a dish towel to sweep the pieces into. "Let me—"

"I've got it," Bucky snapped, reaching for the pieces with his metal hand. "I'm fine."

Steve made another reach for the mess, desperate to help, but Bucky crushed the pieces in his bionic hand, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Buck—"

"I said I'm fine." He brushed the rest of the mess up with his human fingers and tossed them in the garbage.

Bucky was quiet as he rummaged through the cupboard for another mug but his actions were loud and jerky. He slammed cupboard doors and laid the mug down heavily on the counter, huffing through flared nostrils the whole time.

"What are you doing up?" Steve ventured. He watched the back of Bucky's head as he sopped up the spilled coffee from the countertop with a different towel than the one Steve had offered before.

"Nothing. I'm usually up." A single shrug. "Sam was here late. I figured there's no point trying to sleep because you'd just be up at the asscrack of dawn anyway, so... Cheers, I guess."

He gestured toward Steve with the fresh cup of coffee in his hand.

"Oh." Steve kept his eyes down, ashamed that the shield was still on his arm, unsure what to do with it. He looked back up at Bucky with parted lips, prepared to apologize for assuming the worst.

"Look—" they both began, then shook their heads and, in unison, "you first."

Steve chuckled and waved him off. He slid the shield off his arm and set it on the island beside him as quietly as he could. There wouldn't be an easy way to brush this off as anything other than what it was. He and Sam had worked so hard for so long to get Bucky back. Steve didn't want to drive a wedge further between them.

"I just wanted to say..." Bucky looked down into his mug, apparently searching for the right words. "I guess I just—"

"You're bleeding." Steve said. Hee stepped across the kitchen with a clean towel in his hand.

"Oh. I—" Bucky muttered, glancing down at his free hand. There were thin cuts across his fingers and a longer, deeper one on his palm. He turned toward the sink, but Steve caught his arm. "It's fine, I'll just—"

"Stop." Steve turned Bucky's palm over in his hand and shook his head like a disappointed mother. "You have to be more careful. This one's not invincible. You're gonna end up with two if you keep this up." He nodded at the bionic left arm and they both allowed themselves a chuckle.

Bucky looked up as Steve wrapped his hand in the dish towel, trying hard to say something, trying to address the conversation before it slipped through the cracks. Steve turned his hand over a few times, inspecting it with a furrowed brow. He cleared his throat and took a step back.

"C'mon, I think I have some bandaids or tape or something," Steve mumbled, nodding toward the bathroom. He turned back when he realized Bucky wasn't following him, his eyebrows raised expectantly. "You have to at least let me dump some peroxide on that."

Bucky shook his head and set aside the cup of coffee and inspected his hand more closely. "It's not bad. It'll be gone by morning."

Steve shifted awkwardly on his feet. He didn't want to press, but he wasn't ready to simply turn his back on the conversation and go back to bed. He couldn't. Finally, he reached out and took Bucky's hand again. The towel had already absorbed a considerable amount of blood, more than Steve had expected.

"Let me fix you up. Then you can go back to..." Steve nodded at the cup of coffee. "Your coffee."

They both let out a short snort of a laugh. The moment was dead before Steve could take the time to cherish it. Bucky cleared his throat and gently pulled away, eyes cast down.

"You should get back to sleep."

Steve forced a tight smile and tried to reestablish eye contact.

"I don't want to sleep. I... " He took a long breath through his nose and cleared his throat. He gestured at the shield, still sitting on the counter. "I just thought..."

Bucky turned his back and grabbed his coffee from the counter. They stayed that way, separated by much more than the physical space between them for what felt like ages. Steve finally threw up his hands and clasped them behind his head.

"Can you blame me?"

Bucky reached out his metal arm and set the mug down on the island purposefully. He still didn't turn around. He rolled his neck a few times, ran his fingers through his hair, and let out a long exhale.

"No," he finally said. "No, I can't blame you. I  _don't_ blame you. That's why I can't sleep. I don't sleep. I sit out here and drink coffee or get drunk with— _try_ to get drunk with Sam—and I try so hard not to go to sleep because I'm afraid that if I do... "

Steve moved toward him, only to have Bucky take another step away from him, his back still turned.

"I'm not afraid of you, Buck." Steve saw Bucky shake his head, and took an educated guess that he had also rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed. "I'm not. Nothing will change that. I'm always going to be here when it gets bad. If you'd just come sleep closer to—"

"No." Bucky shook his head once and walked into the living room. "It's bad enough you let me stay here. I'm staying as far away as possible. I won't risk your life more than I already am just by being here."

Steve groaned and massaged his tired and itching eyes, but didn't follow. "One night. There's a bedroom right across the hall all set up, your name all over it."

Bucky shook his head and sipped his coffee silently, this eyes seemingly focused on the blank television screen.

"Go back to bed, Steve, you don't sleep enough."

Steve had to turn his back and take a deep breath to collect himself. He wanted to scream, cry, shake Bucky by the shoulders and tell him that this was precisely  _why_  he didn't sleep enough. It wasn't the Soldier lurking behind his best friend's tired cerulean eyes or mark on Steve's right ear that had dissipated within days but somehow still seemed to exist it when he looked hard enough in the mirror.

It was this. This wall that was between them, the wall that Bucky seemed to want to keep building higher. Steve had finally started to get his best friend, his first love, back. Now they were sitting at a heart-wrenching standstill. That's what kept him up at night. Not the potential threat of The Winter Soldier.

"Stop," Steve muttered. He clenched his jaw and marched over to the couch. Bracing himself with both arms, he leaned over the back, overcome with emotion. "Stop trying to protect me, Bucky. Stop trying to protect me, from  _you_. I'm not afraid you! I'm not afraid of what you can do. I'm afraid of what happens after that. I'm afraid—" Steve's voice broke off and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Bucky turned to face him, clearly surprised by the sudden outburst.

"I'm afraid of losing you, all right? I don't want you to slip through my fingers again."

Bucky stared at Steve from across the room, watching as he tried so hard to pull himself back together before he unraveled completely.

"I...  _am_." Bucky's brows pulled together, mouth working into a flat line. "I  _am_  afraid of what I could do to you. I know how it ends."

Steve scoffed and turned his head away.

"I do," Bucky said, "I know how it will end. You won't fight back and I won't be able reel myself back in. Then you're lying dead in your own home with a bullet in your head or your throat crushed." They both winced at the imagery; Steve still kept his eyes averted. "That's exactly why I need to go back under. I don't know how to get them out of my head. It's not safe, Steve. For anyone."

Bucky scoffed and took a long sip from his coffee. "And I know that's kinda your thing, but it's not safe for you to be around me. People know how to use me against you and I'm not okay with that. You shouldn't be either." He looked down at the bionic arm, flexing his fingers a few times. "You shouldn't have asked Wanda to get Tony to fix this thing up for me. There's nothing good—"

"You were defenseless without it," Steve barked, his voice weighted. He was angry, heartbroken, confused. Ultimately overwhelmed. "You've spent seventy years with it and  _he's_  the one that took it away from you. I'm the reason you ever needed it to begin with. It's the least I could do."

Steve clenched his jaw tighter, tears burned his eyes at the memory that haunted him day and night, even now as Bucky sat alive and well in front of him.

"Oh, shut  _up_!" Bucky gestured wildly and somehow managed to keep his coffee from spilling. "We've already done this over and over and  _over_. Drop it."

"I dropped  _you,_ " Steve murmured. "I dropped you off a speeding train."

Steve gripped the back of the couch until he felt the wooden frame start to give. He could only let up a little. When he looked back up, Bucky had moved closer to him, stood on the other side of the couch, red-faced and misty-eyed.

"You tried your best. You did what you could," he said. "And I don't blame you. Nobody blames you. Let it  _go_ , Steve."

Steve swallowed a fiery outburst, something that had been getting harder and harder to do with every passing day that Bucky shut him out. He knew that opening up this conversation was good for both of them, but it always ended without resolution.

Things fell silent between them again. Steve turned his back and pace for several moments, one hand covering his mouth, the other crammed deep in the pocket of his pajama pants.

"I tried," he finally said and turned to face Bucky again. "I tried to let it go." Steve took another long pause. "Peggy... She was always there to remind me that it was an accident. Everyone always told me that it was just a horrible freak accident and that I did the right thing. That I..." He choked on the words. "I needed to give you... give you the dignity of your choice."

Bucky nodded silently, watched Steve struggle with what he wanted to say.

"I couldn't even mourn." Steve laughed humorlessly. He threw his hands up and started to pace again. "I couldn't even get drunk. Not even a nice buzz. I couldn't go back home to Brooklyn and crawl into bed and lay there until it didn't feel like it was killing me to be alive. I wanted to. That's all I wanted for the longest time."

"You had to go back out there."

"Yeah." Steve scoffed. "Yeah, and when it was over, I put that plane in the ice thinking it was the best choice. I was sure that I was finished with what I was supposed to do." Steve exhaled heavily, trying to calm down. "Leaving Peggy was hard. But we always said—" His voice broke off and he forced himself to meet Bucky's blank stare. "End of the line. I thought I was there."

They looked at each other then. Nothing had ended, life had gone on. Though it was a warped version of the reality they'd once known, life had gone on. Here they were, trying to figure out how to go about picking the pieces up and putting themselves back together. Truth was, neither of them had the slightest idea.

"But?"

Steve tilted his head in question.

"You thought you were at the end of the line. There's obviously a  _but_  that you're holding back."

Steve smiled sadly, his eyes falling to the floor again. He shrugged and scratched the back of his head, the knot in his throat making it harder and harder to breathe.

"I thought it was the end. I did what I had to do. Lost you on the way. I didn't know what else there was after that, how I could possibly do anything else, where to go..."

Bucky nodded, just enough to let Steve know he was still tuned in.

"But I know I shouldn't have. Shouldn't have put the plane in the ice. I should have told them where I was. They could have found me, thawed me out and I would have realized who you were sooner. When word got out, someone would have realized. This could have all ended so much earlier. Now we've reached this point and I find myself wondering if it will ever really be over."

"Steve... "

"I think about this constantly, Buck. Every day that I watch you sit here and stare into space, every day that you shut me down and try to push me away, I go over this. What I could have done. What I  _should_ have—"

"You should have moved on, Steve. That's what you should have done. That's what you deserve. I'm not... I'm not worth all this."

Steve clenched his jaw even tighter and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Stop...  _saying_  that," he said. Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but Steve cut him off. "Stop telling me what you're worth to me. You don't remember. You don't—"

"I remember enough," Bucky said. "I remember enough to know that no matter how good our lives were before, this isn't worth that."

"You're wrong," Steve huffed. "This is why you're not leaving. You're not going back under. We're not leaving it here. I'm not letting you go for another seventy years thinking that you're not worth the trouble I've gone through to pull you back from this." He shifted his jaw, chewed on the inside of his cheek, remorse bubbling in the pit of his stomach. His voice softened considerably as he moved around the end of the couch so he stood face-to-face with Bucky. "Listen to me, all right?"

He carefully reached out and placed a gentle hand on Bucky's good arm.

"End of the line. That's the deal. We're not there yet, so will you stop trying to get rid of me?" Steve chuckled as he tried to stifle his tears. "I'm not going anywhere and neither are you."

Bucky finally gave in, rolled his eyes and clapped his good hand down on the back of Steve's neck, bringing their foreheads together.

"You're a punk, you know that?"

Steve broke too, a sad laugh turning into a sob as he collapsed into Bucky's arms.

"Jerk."

Bucky nestled into Steve's chest, struggling to let go of his own tears. His breathing was ragged as they pulled each other impossibly closer, the bionic arm wrapped carefully around Steve's lower back.

"Isn't this so much better?" Steve sighed into the crook of Bucky's neck.

"It's still weird," Bucky mumbled into the thin fabric Steve's cotton t-shirt. "But yeah, I guess it's nice or whatever. I'm just used to you being... you know, small."

"Yeah, yeah," Steve chuckled. "I definitely could get used to this... if you could."

"It's not so bad." Bucky turned his head up a little. "We're still sure that it's permanent, though?"

Steve pulled away only slightly so he could look down into Bucky's face.

"So, about that spare bedroom deal." Bucky groaned and let his head fall back, but Steve pulled him closer, forcing him to face the topic."C'mon. One night. If you hate it, you can room with me or come back out to home-sweet-couch."

Bucky smiled softly before laying his head back against Steve's chest. He closed his eyes and after a few minutes, agreed.

"I guess we could give it a try."

**—**

"Thanks again," Bucky said He planted himself on the edge of the soft bed, already made up with freshly washed sheets and pillow cases. "For everything. Letting me stay here. For home-sweet-couch... For all of it."

Steve stared at him fondly. He ran a hand through his tangled mess of dark hair and sighed.

"No need to thank me. You know I'd never let you out of my sight even if you wanted to leave."

They both laughed for a moment before the room was silent again. They just looked at each other, holding a conversation without words.

"Well," Steve finally said, "I guess we should both try to rest up. It's been a long night."

"Yeah." Bucky chuckled, swinging his legs up onto the mattress. "See you in the morning."

Steve smiled softly as he closed the door. He stood in the hall for a moment, listening, but didn't hear any signs of discomfort or distress, so with his heavy eyelids and itching corneas, he finally retreated back to his own room.

It was only moments until sleep came. Steve's mind was at rest knowing that Bucky was tucked in safely across the hall, hopefully getting his fair share of sleep, too.

Although Steve wished that they could be closer than separate rooms a, he knew that Bucky needed time. They were both still recovering from the events of the past few years. He knew they'd probably always be recovering. He didn't want to rush Bucky's damaged mind back into their hazy relationship that had been confusing enough for two people who hadn't had their brains wiped. The lines had always been blurry.

After Steve has rescued the 107th from HYDRA, something shifted. They made some sort of silent promise not to waste any more time once they got outside the warzone. Life was too precious, too short for the falsehood of "just friends" any longer. Even in a time when it was dangerous to do so, they granted themselves the excitement to see where life would take them next. They never had the chance to find out.

Bucky tossed and turned a few times in the soft bed, uncomfortable with how much space he had to himself. He was used to lying against the back of a couch; feeling some kind of security and closeness. It was the only way he was able to sleep anymore.

He didn't try for sleep long after that. He knew that the harder he tried, the more awake he would be. The coffee definitely wasn't going to help with the situation but he figured a distraction might, so he pulled himself from the bed and decided to investigate the contents of the spare bedroom. He didn't expect to find much. A dresser half-full of Sam's clothing, a nearly empty closet and a desk with barren drawers.

Bored with his findings, Bucky circled back to the closet and clicked the soft, yellow light on, surprised to see that the clothes hanging there were all in plastic coverings. Curious, he stepped inside.

He cautiously unzipped one of the covers, expecting to find a suit, maybe the one Steve had worn to Peggy's wake, but was faced with something much different.

There were several hangers within each plastic covering, filled with clothes that would now only fit on one of Steve's biceps, maybe. Bucky reached out with quivering fingers, afraid that the soft fabric might disintegrate at his touch. Running his thumb over the tan jacket, he was hit with a tidal wave of emotions. Without thinking, he leaned forward and buried his face in the fabric, clutching it tightly in his grip.

He was confused by the memories flooding back to him in bits and pieces. A back alley, a parking lot, the backside of a diner, the Stark convention, all coming back to him in broken but painfully vivid recollections.

It was several minutes before Bucky could pull himself out of the cramped room. He shut the light off and returned to the bed. He tried to collect himself, but there were too many things running through his head. Absentmindedly, he reached for the drawer of the nightstand, now afraid of what he might find.

At first he thought it empty, but at second glance he recognized a small leather volume sitting in the bottom of the drawer.

A soft smile crept onto his lips as he thumbed through the pages. Journaling had been something that Bucky and Steve had always had in common, especially as of late.

Bucky had discovered that writing down bits and pieces of memories as they came to him, sketching out pictures or cutting out articles from newspapers all helped him hang onto his past. His past that HYDRA had tried so hard to wipe away and replace with trigger words, violent memories and adverse associations.

Steve had always been a closeted artist and Bucky was more than happy to see that the sketches in his hand were fairly recent. As he turned the page, he drew in a sharp breath, tracing his fingers over the drawing. At first glance it seemed fairly abstract, but after turning on the bedside lamp, Bucky could make out precisely what it was.

The side of train, a snowy ravine, an outstretched hand reaching for something that wasn't there.

It was sloppy and rushed in blank ink. Bucky recognized the style and it made his chest ache. A similar strain of drawings could be found in Bucky's own journals. Something scribbled down in a haze after waking up from a violent nightmare of a time he hardly remembered, pieces of a picture that he didn't fully understand. Bucky had dozens of journals overflowing with the same content. It broke his heart to know that Steve had been having the same problem.

It made sense that the journal was thrown into the spare bedroom rather than sitting in Steve's own nightstand. Bucky guessed that he thought if he removed himself from the practice, the nightmares would stop. Bucky knew from his own experience that he was probably wrong.

Steve sat at the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes violently. He wasn't sure what had woken him up this time, if anything, or if he had even really been asleep. The apartment was as quiet as it had ever been. The only things making noise were the thoughts racing through his mind. Intrusive, circling, guilty and self-loathing thoughts that plagued him constantly.

The Brooklyn street outside his bedroom window was quieter than his own mind. He glanced out the window, surprised that it was still dark outside. Steve partially wished the sun would come up so he would have an excuse to be awake.

"You know... " He jumped at the voice, on his feet immediately. He relaxed when he saw Bucky's shadowy figure in the doorway. "When you said it had my name all over it, I didn't think you meant literally."

Steve crossed the room, face flushed upon seeing the journal in Bucky's hands.

"That's hardly fair."

Bucky cracked a shit-eating smirk, something Steve knew all too well and had missed sorely. He rolled his eyes and took the journal into his own hands. He looked down at it but didn't open it. He was already painfully aware of what covered the pages. Some were absent sketches, others were pieces of nightmares, even the occasional hazy dream of Bucky.

Steve tossed it aside onto the floor and gestured behind him with his chin. The two of them shared a fond look for a moment before crossing the room to the mess of tangled sheets.

It took a few minutes to settle in, both of them accustomed to sleeping alone for extended periods of time. They started out on opposite sides of the bed, unsure of how much space to give the other. Bucky was the first to move closer, uncomfortable with the amount of openness around him. Steve immediately took this as a cue and moved closer so their arms were touching.

Bucky shuddered at the touch of Steve's skin, and they both flinched away at the light contact. Bucky moved closer still, caressing Steve's upper arm gently. Even in the dark, Steve saw the faint smile cross his best friend's lips as they moved together again.

"I thought you were going to bed," Bucky whispered.

Steve huffed and turned his head to the side, then back up toward the ceiling. He took a long pause, struggling for an explanation that made sense.   
"Some nights... I sleep all the way through. Not a nightmare or dream in sight. Just sleep. I wake up feeling great. Get things done in the morning." He sighed heavily. "Other nights, I just lay here for hours, listening to you and Sam out there. He goes home and I might get to sleep for a couple minutes but then a car goes by or the wind blows and I'm wide awake again."

"Are you... " Bucky murmured, gesturing with his metal hand. "Worried? About..."

"No." Steve scoffed and turned his head toward Bucky again. "Didn't we just have this conversation? I'm not worried about that. I've never been worried—"

"What if you don't even know if you're worried?" Bucky propped himself up on his good arm. "What your subconscious is screaming at you to get me out of your house?"

"It's not," Steve said softly. He turned on his side so he could look Bucky in the face. "That's not what this is. I'm worried about you, but not like that."

Bucky stared at him for a long time, studying his face in the dim light. Steve knew he didn't buy it. Not for a moment. Bucky shook his head, seemingly sidetracked.

"What is it?"

Bucky threw his hands up and then crossed them over his chest.

"Hey," Steve said quietly, rolling closer.

The bed creaked quietly with the movement. Steve almost stopped short, but continued moving until his nose was in the crook of Bucky's neck. With his tired body draped over Bucky, Steve relaxed. It was such a foreign feeling, something he hadn't experienced in decades.

"I'm here." Steve's breathing was ragged, but he allowed his eyes to close, giving in to the exhaustion. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Bucky hesitantly reached up his good hand, searching for the back of Steve's neck. He traced up his spine and into his hair, tangling his fingers in. Even with the towel wrapped around Bucky's palm, Steve shivered with the familiarity of it all.

And Bucky—the pieces of memories that he had were of all of a frail, sickly, bony, Steve Rogers climbing into bed or under a sleeping bag with him like this, desperate for warmth.

He had often clung to Bucky's clothes tightly—especially in the months after his mother died—until he fell asleep and they could both relax. And although Bucky didn't remember a lot of it, Steve did.

Steve remembered every time he'd ever shared a bed with his best friend. Every time Bucky had whispered, "come here, punk, you're freezing to death," before wrapping him up safely in one of his jackets or a blanket.

"The closet," Bucky said. "How? It's been..."

"Hmm?" Steve hummed softly, consciousness slipping out of his grasp. "Oh. She... Peggy."

Bucky sighed and ran his fingers through Steve's hair a few more times. He stared up at the ceiling, his chest and eyes welling up with too many emotions to pinpoint. It was overwhelming, more than he was used to dealing with at once. Usually, the things that bubbled up inside him were fury, rage, impulses to asphyxiate Steve in his sleep.

. For once, Bucky wasn't afraid of these emotions that he couldn't control. They were overwhelming and confusing but they were warm and he knew they couldn't make him hurt the only person in the world he never wanted to hurt.

"Are you falling asleep on me, punk?"

The only response he got was a deep sigh from the depths of Steve's massive chest, followed by a light snore.

Soon after that, Bucky's own tired eyes began to force themselves shut and he had no desire to fight it anymore. 


	2. Chapter Two

**THE SMELL OF THE CLOSET**  had mostly been that of must.

Bucky thought he might have caught a whiff of his best friend, the one he remembered, skinny Steve. But in the morning, engulfed in Steve's presence—his warmth, his drool, his early-morning grumbling—Bucky knew he'd only gotten a face full of the scent of aging fabric.

This was here, this was now, this was real.

They hadn't moved all night. Although Bucky's good arm was beyond the point of being asleep and it burned with the worst kind of pins and needles he'd ever felt, he didn't care. He had slept soundly through the night with Steve nestled into his neck and draped across his chest. It was something he never would have asked for, only because he never would have realized how much he needed it.

"...time is it?" Steve mumbled, rolling his cramped neck.

Bucky craned his neck to look at the clock on the other side of the bed. "Ten, I think."

"It's too bright." Steve sniffled and dropped his head back into Bucky's neck. "You sleep all right?"

"Yeah." A smile painted itself across his face that he couldn't seem to wipe off. "Yeah, actually. I don't think I dreamt at all. No nightmares, no dreams. Just..."

"Sleep," Steve said, smiling against Bucky's skin. "I'm glad."

They laid in silence for several minutes as Steve floated between consciousness and sleep before he finally rolled off from his human pillow to stretch, accompanying it with a mighty groan. Bucky stretched out his right arm slowly and cringed at the pain that shot up into his shoulder and across his chest as he regained blood flow.

"How's that hand?" Steve inquired, still lazily massaging the sleep from his eyes.

"Pretty all right," Bucky said as he investigated the areas that had been bleeding just a few hours before. They were hardly scabs now, itchy but not painful.

"Coffee?" Steve sighed as he pried himself from the warmth he'd been completely engulfed in. Bucky didn't answer, only continued to study the palm of his human hand. "Is that a no?"

"Oh—Uh..." Bucky shook his head, unsure of where his mind had gone. "No, yeah, sure. Coffee, yeah. Sounds good. Sorry."

Steve nodded with a tight-lipped smile and a furrowed brow before he turned away. He was worried and it was obvious but Bucky wasn't sure how to ease his mind. He wasn't even sure how to ease his  _own_ mind. He was just starting to get it back. It was confusing to be lying comfortably in a bed that he'd just shared with Steve, still basking in his familiar warmth.

He was bewildered by the concept of not waking up in a cold sweat, confused by his surroundings; or standing over Steve's sleeping body in the dead of night, loaded pistol in hand. He had slept soundly for the first time in months and it was completely foreign to him. He guessed that there hadn't been any petrified sleep-talking or violent night terrors because he didn't remember Steve waking him up at any point or stirring at all. Bucky was confused and overwhelmed with the warmth and emotion pumping through him but he could certainly get used to it.

It was all so different from the life he had become accustomed to. Yet he knew that this was how it was supposed to be. He knew that this was who he was.

By the time Bucky had finally swung his legs over the edge of the bed, Steve was back with two steaming cups of coffee. Bucky took the mug graciously and clutched it between his hands. He smiled down into the dark liquid as his eyes fell out of focus.

"What is it?" Steve silently took a seat on the bed next to Bucky, worried that he was slipping away again.

It happened sometimes. Bucky would be sitting in the living room or in the middle of a conversation and suddenly his face would blank out. Often when he came out of it he would be angry, trembling, or mumbling, not always in English. He usually spoke Russian, but other times it was Romanian, Japanese, or a number of other language that Steve had yet to identify.

Sometimes he'd leave for days at a time afterward and Steve never knew when to guess he was coming back.

Steve distinctly remembered Bucky's horror stories of the other Soldiers that he was kept with in Siberia. He'd mentioned more than once that they knew over thirty languages and it was hard for Steve to swallow because the Bucky Barnes that he'd known had always been reluctant to learn even one foreign language back in high school. To think that there were now over thirty of them lurking beneath the surface was bewildering.

"Buck."

"It's just..." the long haired man began, trailing off as he tried to collect his thoughts. "It's nice... knowing that I didn't... that I'm getting better."

There was a long moment between them. Neither of them spoke, both just sat with the shadow of a smile tugging at their mouths.

"You should have more faith in yourself," Steve finally uttered.

"Yeah." Bucky sighed. "But that part of me... I can't control it. I thought all it took were those... words, but it's more than that. It's a part of me now, something that I have to push away, something that will never really be gone."

"We're going to work on it," Steve assured him, placing a gentle hand on his friend's good arm. "Together. Just like always."

Bucky nodded and sipped his coffee, still looking somber. Steve tried not to stare. He had to bite his tongue to stop the nagging questions, but they always managed to slip out.

"What are you thinking about?"

Bucky scoffed and turned his head but didn't make eye contact. He shrugged a bit and then averted his gaze back to the shining hardwood floor.

"After it happened," he started, gesturing at Steve's ear with his metal arm. "I wouldn't sleep. I'd sit up all night and drink coffee—not that it helped—or read or watch TV. The only time I would ever let myself relax was if I was sure you'd be gone for a few hours. I couldn't risk it happening again. "

Steve nodded, tracking Bucky's words carefully. He was afraid of where the conversation was headed. He had been sure that he'd talked Bucky out of going back into cryo, but the way he had been talking lately indicated otherwise.

"I don't know." Bucky laughed sadly. "I don't know what to do. Because this... it was  _really_  nice. It was great to feel like I might be myself again, like I have some kind of control, but..."

"But nothing!" Steve chuckled, trying to keep the conversation light. "No, okay, listen, we're working on this, alright? I'll get Tony—"

"Yeah," Bucky snorted. "Because he'll help me."

"He will. We just need a starting point, some way to get into your head and flush him out and bring you back. Tony might be able to—"

"Steve..." Bucky whined, trying to wave him off.

The excited blonde continued to ramble, but it all sounded the same to Bucky. It was driving him insane. He knew that it was all in good nature, that Steve meant nothing more than to help his friend, but he couldn't stand it any longer. He couldn't listen to it anymore.

"Steve!" he screeched. In the same moment, the mug in his hand shattered, leaving a mess of scalding coffee in his lap. He hardly flinched. Steve trailed off, taken aback by the outburst.

"Just... stop," Bucky panted, his chest rose and fell heavily, eyes screwed shut. "Stop. Stop... saying...  _him_ , this isn't—it's not like with your friend, Bruce. There is no  _other guy_. It's me, Steve. This is  _me_ _._."

Steve spluttered for several moments as he tried to collect the broken pieces of the mug from Bucky's lap, tried to apologize. He was trying entirely too hard to do it all because that's what Steve Rogers did. In that the moment, it was breaking Bucky's heart.

"Stop," Bucky said shakily. He stood abruptly. The rest of the pieces fell to the floor in a clatter that made Steve flinch a little too hard. They were both trembling; Bucky with anger, Steve with anxiety. "Stop trying to fix me, Steve. I'm not—" His voice broke off into a sharp inhale. "That's not how this works, alright? There's no reversing what they did to me. I'm not the same, I'm not myself. I never will be again. I sure as hell will not put you and all of your friends in danger by staying here."

Bucky straightened his clothes and marched out of the room in a huff. Steve thought he heard him mumbling under his breath, but he couldn't be sure. There wasn't much he could hear over the sound of his pounding heartbeat. He did, however, hear the front door slam loud enough rattle the walls of the bedroom. One of his neighbors shouted out a string of profanities that didn't receive a response. Steve sat in silence with a pool of black coffee seeping into his cotton socks, unsure of where to go from there.

**—**

"He just needs time," Natasha sighed reassuringly as she twirled Ramen noodles around a fork absentmindedly. "Trust me on that."

"Yeah." Steve scoffed, looking down into his mug of coffee. It was still from that morning; it hadn't really left his hand since then. "I know. I know he needs time. I just really wish that—"

"That he'd spend that time with you. Of course, that's understandable."

Steve turned his head away from her, his eyes landed on the couch. He knew he couldn't hide the pink tinge in his cheeks, especially from Natasha. He could feel the smirk on her face burning a hole through him.

"C'mon, nothing wrong with that."

"Dangerous waters, Romanoff," Steve chuckled. He slowly turned his head back to her, resisted a smile. "It's not like that. That would be selfish of me—"

"Your point? You've done all this for so long, fought so hard to get him back. No one's blaming you for being a little selfish." She laughed lightly and gave him a warm smile. Steve didn't seem entertained in the slightest.

"Look," Natasha started again. She leaned forward in her seat, more serious. "You are a very selfless person. Some people might even call you a hero, but you didn't hear that from me."

Steve feigned a playful eye roll and shifted in his seat, ready to be lectured.

"Point is, you deserve to feel like this. You have every right to feel this... longing, you know? There's nothing wrong with that. " She smiled softly and moved to try to catch Steve's eye again, but he kept his gaze down. "But you also have to realize that he's not the same person he was before. He's never gonna be the same. He's not the Winter Soldier but he's not same old Barnes anymore, either."

"I know," Steve strained, brow furrowed deeply. "I know that. I just want to help him... make sure he knows that he's not in this alone."

"You've done that," Natasha reassured him. She reached across the table and grasped his wrist gently. "You've gone above and beyond. There's nothing more you can do. He knows you're not going anywhere and now it's time for him to..."

"Make his choice," Steve muttered. He pulled his arm from Natasha's consoling hand and stood from the table. "Dignity of his choice."

"Yeah." 

"Always comes back to that."

She leaned back in her chair and watched as Steve walked to the couch and rested his free hand on the back. He leaned heavily on the piece of furniture. It was clear that he was trying to keep an even temper, even more obvious that he was losing it quickly.

"You should go," he grunted, pushing himself away from the couch. "You're not supposed to be here anyway. Tony—"

"Tony will get over it," Natasha sneered. "You're my friend. You call, I come. If calls me, I go back. That's how this works."

Steve was quiet for a long moment. He just stood hunched over the couch, breathing heavily as he tried to collect himself. Natasha started to stand from the table, desperate to offer a shoulder to cry on. When Steve turned around, he looked a bit more like himself—troubled, broody, dealing with it.

"He knows, right?"

Natasha had been ready to spurt the lie that Tony had fed her, but she faltered and Steve recognized it immediately. He smiled, but it was a cold one. The smile of a betrayed friend that Natasha Romanoff knew all too well.

"I talked him into giving you some time to... sort things out," she offered quietly. It was obvious that Steve wasn't happy with that answer. Her eyebrows knitted together tightly with the strain of trying not to say too much. "But yeah, he knows you're here. In New York. Specifically, here, Brooklyn. That you came home."

"Bucky?" Steve choked. But then, firmly, "Tony knows he's out. You told him. You told them all. Everyone."

The fiery red head opened her mouth with the intention of an apology, but nothing came out. Her words had dried up on the tip of her tongue and she stood sputtering, looking for answers and excuses that would stop the conversation from derailing into a loud and lengthy argument.

"Surveillance?"

"No," Natasha answered a bit too loudly. She shook her head furiously. "No, I wouldn't do that do you. "

"Tony would."

She turned away, slender fingers tangled into her crimson locks. She was clearly frustrated, but Steve was past the point of caring. He'd thought that they had worked past this type of thing and developed trust, a friendship. He was hurt to see that she was still the same double agent she'd always been.

"I owed him," Natasha finally admitted. Her back was still turned. Steve was glad he didn't have to look her in the eye. It made it easier to be livid. "I owed him for letting you two escape last time. I had to warn them that he was back."

"That's not how this works, Nat."

"It is now!" She snapped and finally turned to face him. "That's how it works now. There are sides now and I've made the choice to play both of them because I can't lose either of you. You are both my friends, as much as I hate to admit it." She shook her head and mumbled under her breath, "Stark. My friend. Jesus."

"Well." Steve nodded his head briefly. "Let me make it easier on you."

Nat trailed closely behind him, confused as he stormed to his bedroom in a huff. By the time she realized what he was doing, the shield was clutched tightly in her hands and he was urging her toward the door.

"What are you doing?"

Steve was holding the front door open with his toe, arms spread as an indication for Natasha to make her exit. His cheeks and ears burned red, but his face remained cold.

"I'm not taking this," Nat scoffed. She shoved the heavy disc into Steve's chest, only to have him forcefully give it back to her. "Stop! I'm not taking this from you. This is all you have to protect yourself."

"Shame," Steve said. "Take it back to Stark, tell him Bucky is staying with me. Here's my peace offering, take it."

"No!" The shield dropped to the floor noisily but neither of them made any move to pick it up. "No. I won't. Living with him is dangerous."

"I know," Steve deadpanned; he only broke eye contact to motion toward the door with his eyes. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. I'm not taking it." Nat stepped over the shield and into the hallway only to have Steve pull her back. "Let me go, Rogers, before I have to do something we'll both regret."

"He gave it back because Bucky was in Wakanda, removed from everything and everyone that he could possibly hurt. Tony knows he's back—worse, that he's back  _here_. I gave him my word and I'm keeping it this time," Steve told her firmly. Then, through tightly clenched teeth, "Take the damn shield, Natasha."

It took her several long, heart wrenching moments before she knelt down and picked up the shield from the carpet. She stared at Steve for a long time, trying to read his face, trying to find some trace of seconds thoughts. There wasn't anything there. He had thought about this and he meant to follow through with it.

"You're sure?" Natasha whispered. She looked down at the freshly painted metal and turned it in her hands so it caught the light. "Steve, you love this thing more than—"

"Yeah," Steve said softly. "I'm sure."

"I really—"

"He would do it for me."

Natasha looked at him long and hard, amazed by his constant persistence. She thought it had to get exhausting at some point, especially times like these.

"Yeah." She finally turned away, shield strapped onto her arm. "You keep saying that."

Steve nodded silently and closed the door behind her, left alone in his empty apartment. His coffee mug was still clutched tightly in his left hand and it wasn't until then that he truly realized how long he'd been holding it. He sighed heavily, set the cup down on the kitchen table and flexed his numb fingers.

The apartment was usually quiet, but being alone certainly amplified the silence. Steve was used to being able to hear one of his neighbors at least. They were all silent. Or Sam blaring the television or music too loudly through the entire place. Surprisingly, he hadn't contacted Steve all day.

At the very least, Steve had been able to count on Bucky's presence for the past few days. He hadn't taken off like this in a while. When he did, it burned a hole through Steve that he certainly didn't miss at all. It was a hole that was too hard to fill or even patch up. Too sore to ignore and too painful to think about long enough to deal with. The nights when Bucky was missing were the worst ones by far and spending the day with Natasha had only reminded Steve of that.

He wandered listlessly around the apartment for another hour, unsure if he should make food or watch television or just sit in the silence and let it eat him alive. Nothing felt right. It never did when Bucky disappeared without a word. It made Steve restless because he knew that going after him would never work but sitting at home left him guilt-ridden.

With Bucky around, it was easier for Steve to forget everything that he'd done to get him back. Easier to forget that every day since he'd flown out to Wakanda to get Bucky out of cryo, he had been going back on promises he'd made to Tony.

Weeks after Bucky had made the decision to go back under, Steve found it in him to visit Tony in New York. Initially, the conversation was forced and one sided, with Tony repeatedly leaving Steve mid-sentence to "take a phone call" or simply take a lap around Stark Tower before coming back to resume. Eventually Steve got through to him and he promised that Bucky was going to stay away until someone could figure out how to flush HYDRA out of his mind.

Days later, the shield showed up in Steve's living room without any spoken explanation. Steve knew it had been a peace offering—the closest he'd ever get to one.

Months later, Bucky's absence was still driving Steve insane. Flying out to Wakanda to basically watch him sleep was expensive and a waste of time. Steve, as always, let his feelings toward his lifelong friend get the best of him. He had the doctors wake him up—only after receiving T'Challa's explicit consent—and worked at convincing Bucky to come home to Brooklyn for a few weeks, just to see what would happen.

One thing led to another and after weeks of watching Bucky struggle without his left arm, Steve made the decided to call Wanda.

Surprisingly, she wasn't the one who took endless convincing. It was Bucky that demanded Steve leave it alone. However, Steve didn't buy it and Bucky didn't push it.

As a team, they snuck into Stark Tower and put Wanda's abilities to work. After nearly twenty-four consecutive hours of exhausting and tedious coordinating, Bucky had an arm back and Tony didn't have any memory of it. Proud of Wanda and happy to see Bucky functioning again, Steve slept easier at night.

Times like these were the ones when all the guilt flooded back to him, fueled his nightmares and motivated him to find distractions, no matter what form that took. He felt as though he couldn't stop doing wrong by the people he cared about most.

It drove him crazy as he laid in his silent bedroom and listened intently to the cars pass on the wet Brooklyn street below, wondering where Bucky had run off to.

**—**

Steve was unconscious before he even recognized being tired enough to fall asleep. It happened a lot when he hadn't slept in days. He'd be lying awake one moment, the next he'd be terrifyingly aware of the fact that he was dreaming but he was rendered incapable of doing anything about it as memories bombarded his subconscious.

Cold air hit his face, howled in his ears. Snow pelted his cheeks so hard that he could hardly keep his eyes open. He was reaching out as far as he could with his left hand, his right arm extended and locked in place, holding him on the edge of the train.

"Grab my hand!" Steve screeched, voice hoarse.

He strained, trying to reach further, trying to get as close as he could.

Bucky was right there, fingertips nearly touching. He dangled helplessly, reaching out to Steve with a trembling hand as he clutched desperately to the train with the other. They were so close, he was going to make it. Steve had him, he was sure of it, just one more stretch and—

Steve bolted upright in bed, eyes still screwed shut and mouth contorted in a scream. His hands clawed at his chest and then his face, trying to wipe away the cold sweat, the trauma, the tears.

"No... no... no..." he panted as he pushed the soaking wet hair away from his blazing forehead.

"Rogers, Steven G. Brooklyn. Sarah, Joseph, J-James. James Buchanan..." he whispered shakily, head in hands. "B-U-C-H-A—"

"Grounding?"

Steve jumped, wide eyes searching the dark room for the source of the voice. He was shaking, trembling uncontrollably. He didn't have his shield. He was defenseless. His eyes prickled and threatened to overflow.

"Thought you said you were past that."

The familiar voice was closer this time. Steve could see the glint of the street light off the metal arm. He relaxed, but not by much. He swallowed thickly, chest still heaving as he shook his head.

"I..." Steve gasped. He could only continue to shake his head. "I was. I-I  _am_."

"Really." Bucky scoffed as he seated himself at Steve's feet. "That's weird, because I'm pretty sure—"

"Shut up." Steve managed, still considerably out of breath. "Just... Shut up. Some nights I'm fine. Others..."

"You're screaming in your sleep?"

Steve scoffed, averting his eyes. "You're  _really_  not in the position to be patronizing me right now."

He didn't look up, but Steve knew Bucky had rolled his eyes "I needed some air. Time to think. I'm back now."

Steve turned his head up, his eyes finally adjusted to the light. "Natasha talked to you?" He heard the metal arm shrug up and down and he couldn't help but let out a dry laugh. "I know that I'm supposed to let you choose and everything, but you're not making it easy."

"Steve—"

"No," Steve huffed as he pushed himself away from his damp mattress.

Bucky trailed him across the room to the dresser, where he peeled off his sticky shirt and dug for a clean one.

"Don't you get it? It will always be this cycle. Things will be fine, great, maybe even kind of normal. Then something will happen and we'll realize how much of threat I am to you. We'll fight, I'll leave, and you're back to night terrors."

Steve snorted as he pulled the clean shirt over his head. "Night terrors are actually kind of your thing."

Bucky shoved him with his good arm, irritated. "I'm serious, Steve."

"Yeah," Steve said. "So am I."

"I know." Bucky sighed deeply, running a hand through his tangled hair. "I know you can't give this up. But don't think of it as giving up. Think of it as what it is: me, finally doing the right thing for everyone."

"No." Steve walked back over to the bed and flopped down face first on the cool side of the mattress. "You did that when you joined the army. Now it's time to do the right thing for yourself."

"That still might be what going back is." Bucky laughed quietly as he crossed the room and tangled his good hand in Steve's dampened hair. "I can't trust myself, especially not here. I'm programmed to take you out, Steve. That's not okay, no matter what you try to tell yourself."

"Fine," Steve exhaled into the pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and turned his head back toward Bucky. "Then... do what's right for... me."

" _Steve_ —"

"I know you think you understand—"

Bucky sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. He continued to gently massage Steve's head as he waited for him to go on.

"It drives me crazy when you're not around. Even when I knew you were alright in Wakanda, safe from anything, it bothered me. It bugs me not being able to talk to you. I spent so much time looking for you and now you're here and..." Steve paused, eyebrows furrowed deeply as he stared off into the dark room past Bucky. "I don't know. Maybe it's selfish. Nat keeps telling me I deserve to be selfish after everything, but then you start talking like you want to leave again and I don't want to force you into staying somewhere you don't want to be."

Bucky breathed slowly through his nose. He pulled his hand from the Steve's dampened hair and placed it on his shoulder. Bucky was searching for the right words to string together, something that wouldn't sound contrived or obligatory. The past twenty-four hours had been exhausting.

For once, he only wanted to sleep. However, he knew that Steve would never get any rest if they didn't end this conversation somewhere.

"You think I don't wanna be here?" he asked softly, running his thumb over the soft fabric of Steve's t-shirt. "You are... the only piece of myself that I have left. Everything else is buried inside me, pushed back to parts of my mind that I don't know how to get to. It all comes back so easily when you're around, which is something that I want to hang onto for as long as I possibly can."

"Then _stay_." Steve strained, choked by the lump in his throat. "Just stay here and we'll figure it out."

"Steve..." Bucky sighed heavily. "I am so afraid of what I could do you. Because being around you brings that out, too. The... impulses. I don't know how many times I have to tell you that I'm not okay with that. And giving Natasha back the shield? What the hell is wrong with you? If it weren't for that frisbee, I'd have killed you."

Steve shook his head and buried his face back in the pillow, eyes screwed shut tightly.

"It's the only way I can keep you here without trouble from them. Everything else— _anything_  else—I can handle. I can't deal with my friends telling me that you're a threat, a villain, a killer. I won't do it. Giving it back shuts them up and keeps you here. It's worth it."

Choking back tears, Bucky started to stand.

"We'll talk about this more in the morning, alright? Try to sleep some more."

Steve reached out reflexively, fingers clutched tightly around Bucky's left arm. Both of them wavered for a moment.

"Stay." Steve e tugged on the bionic appendage. "Because if you leave again in the morning—"

"I won't."

Steve still didn't let go and Bucky knew he wouldn't until he'd he settled himself in the place Steve had made for him. Reluctantly, Bucky climbed into bed and Steve's massive arms embraced him, pulled him impossibly close.

"This is so weird," Bucky sighed into Steve's shirt. After a moment, "It's permanent? You're sure?"

He felt Steve's chest rumble with a laugh, but there was no other sign of amusement. Steve was tense and stiff, his breathing ragged. Bucky knew Steve's eyes were probably wide open and staring into the dark, but there wasn't much he could do about it other than close his own eyes and try to find sleep. Which, surprising to both of them, didn't take very long at all.


	3. Chapter Three

 

_**BUCKY LET OUT A LONG**  _ _breath as he turned his head and scanned the bright room slowly, lazily. He opened his mouth a few times, flexing his stiff jaw before he spoke._

_"Steve?" His voice was hoarse, throat dry. He wondered how long it had been since the last time he'd been awake. "Why am I... what are you doing?"_

_Steve stepped closer as one of the doctors offered Bucky a small paper cup and another one unstrapped him from the cryotube. He took the cup graciously and sucked down the contents in one quick gulp. He took Steve's outstretched hand reluctantly, using it as support as he stepped down onto the cold tile floor. He leaned heavily on Steve's arm for a moment as his legs and head adjusted._

_"What happened?" Buck asked softly as he took a step back. "Why am I awake?"_

_Bucky looked around the room carefully. There was an armchair, an end table, and a lamp. Steve had been visiting and by the looks of it, he'd been visiting a lot and staying for long periods of time._

_Steve blew out a long breath, his brows furrowed. "I wanted to ask if you'd changed your mind yet," he said, eyes down."Have they figured something out? To get them out of my head?" Bucky inquired hopefully, trying desperately to make eye contact. "Steve."_

_"No." Steve huffed before he turned away forcefully. The doctors gave him a wide berth and eventually cleared out of the room completely. "No, there hasn't been... any progress. At all. Nothing."_

_Bucky stared blankly at the back of Steve's, irritation sprouting in the pit of his stomach._

_"Then what are we doing? Why are you doing this to yourself?"_

_Steve slammed his hand down on the metal counter in front of him. He squeezed his eyes shut against the lingering stares of the doctors peering through the glass walls. They always stared when he came. Sometimes it was less obvious, but they were always there and Steve was always acutely aware of them._

_"I just..." he strained as he studied the dent he'd left in the countertop and gently traced it with his fingertips. "I want you to come back."_

_"I know." Bucky didn't move from where he was planted. "Don't you think I know that? I don't..." He drew in a long breath. "You think I like this?"_

_"No!" Steve's voice broke and his shoulders sank. He braced himself against the dented counter, chest heaving. "No... I just want you... I want you to come back. Come_  home _. We can—I'll take care of everything else. I can't... I can't do this anymore."_

**—**

"Why Buchanan?"

"Hmm?" Steve turned his head toward Bucky.

It was still dark outside. Neither of them were sure why they were awake. They had quickly dozed off after a long night of watching Sam get drunk, but now they laid next to each other, hazy and drifting.

"Grounding..." Bucky trailed off, losing his train of thought as his brain attempted to force itself back into unconsciousness. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stay on track.

"Couple weeks ago..." he said, "...when you were grounding." He waved his metal hand, as if that would help Steve, who had closed his eyes again, understand what he was trying to say.

"Rogers, Steven G. Your parents, James Buchanan," he sniffed as he tried to rub the sleep from his itchy eyes. "You were spelling out Buchanan. Why?"

Steve mumbled a sleepy "I dunno," into the crook of his own arm that was draped over his face.

"C'mon," Bucky said with a sluggish laugh. He felt Steve shrug against the bed before he rolled over until his face was in Bucky's left armpit.

There was a long pause while Bucky waited for an answer and Steve tried to fall back asleep.

"It's the longest," Steve finally mumbled into Bucky's shirt. He shifted against the metal arm so the coolness was on his forehead. "One that takes the most thought. Brings me back to earth a lot faster than my own name or 'Brooklyn' or something. I switch it up sometimes. That night was particularly..."

"Me?"

Steve turned his head in question.

"Was it about me?" Bucky asked quietly. He didn't dare look down as Steve turned on his side to face him. "You were really upset afterwards. Wouldn't go back to sleep."

"You slept fine," Steve muttered. "That's all that really mattered to me. You were there and you slept and you didn't even mumble. Not once."

"That's not what—"

"Yeah," Steve interjected. He propped himself up on his arm and waited for Bucky to turn to look at him. He wouldn't. "Yeah. It was you. It was... the train. It's always—most of the time..."

"Have you talked to someone about this?" Bucky sighed as he finally turned his head. His eyebrows were knit tightly together, lips pursed.

"Yeah..." Steve said reluctantly. "Nat."

Bucky's eyes rolled so far up into his skull that Steve thought they'd get stuck there. He scoffed and threw his head back against Bucky's metal arm.

"I'm fine."

Bucky sighed and gently pulled his bionic arm from under Steve's head, which left him lying flat on the mattress. He opened his mouth to speak but Bucky was already sitting up on the edge of the bed, head in hands.

"Just..." Steve started, unsure of where to go from there. He was already spent on this conversation. They went in circles every other night. He was just glad he'd gotten Bucky to stop leaving in the middle of the discussion. "Look, it's late. We've been doing great.  _You've_ been doing great. Better every day. I'm—"

Steve dropped off as Bucky stood from the bed and slowly walked to the window. He parted the curtains with his shining fingers and peered out, uncertain of what it was he was looking for.

"Bucky?"

He was quiet for a long moment. His skull seemed to be vibrating, the space between his ears filling with white noise. Bucky tried to shake it off but it wouldn't go away. The back of his neck was tingling like pins and needles. It was an all too familiar feeling, but he refused to give into it. It'd been so long. He'd been doing so well.

He wouldn't give it up now. He couldn't.

"Buck?" Steve asked, voice shaky as he slid off the end of the bed and approached his best friend's side.

Bucky held up his human hand to stop him, but Steve continued to move forward.

"Steve," Bucky hissed through clenched teeth when a sweaty palm landed on his quivering shoulder.

Steve stepped in front of him and cupped Bucky's stubbly cheeks in his hands. He held him firmly despite the obvious resistance. The bionic arm trembled at his side and groaned with the effort as Bucky resisted the reflex to wrap the cold, plated fingers around Steve's neck.

"Bucky," Steve whispered, eyes wide. "Come back. I'm right here."

Bucky was still staring straight through him, teeth grinding down onto each other as he strained against Steve's grip on his face.

"Let go." He was apparently angry but there was something else in his voice, in his eyes. Bucky was afraid, terrified. Steve couldn't let go. He was afraid that the hands on Bucky's face were the only thing keeping him in his own head. "Let go of me before I hurt you."

"No." Steve pulled his face closer, mouth in a tight line. "I'm right here. Look at me, Bucky. It's me. It's Steve."

Bucky cried out and ripped away from Steve's touch. The metal arm came up faster than he could stop it. Steve deflected the clenched and cold fist with his own shaking hand, trying hard to keep eye contact. Bucky stared back at him with glassy eyes. Slowly, the mechanical arm dropped from Steve's hold and both of them took a step back.

"I'm leaving," Bucky said, his wide-eyed gaze trained on the window behind Steve's right shoulder. He took several steps backward before he turned his back and headed for the bedroom door. Steve went to move forward but Bucky immediately turned around, trembling finger pointing across the room. "Don't.  _Stop_. I'm going to Sam's, all right? I'm—I'll be back.I can't. I can't, Steve. I'm sorry."

**—**

"Yeah, sure, man. That's cool, just crash right there. Break into my house, that's fine. That's what normal people do."

Bucky groaned, rolling over and squinting into the light to see Sam standing above him, a cup of coffee in his hand and one eyebrow arched. Bucky groaned again and covered his face with one of the throw pillows, his pupils burning and unable to adjust to the morning light.

"...time is it?" he whined.

"Noon." Sam huffed, brushing Bucky's legs aside so he could sit. "Late even for you. Hangover?"

Bucky sat up enough to glower down the length of the couch at Sam who was sipping his coffee like he'd done nothing wrong.

"It was funny. You know it was funny."

"Shut  _up_ ," Bucky lamented, burying his face deeper in the couch cushions. "You have a TV in your room. Let me sleep."

Sam smirked and kicked his feet up on the coffee table, proceeding to turn on the television and crank up the volume, full blast.

"Sorry, man, what? I couldn't quite hear you over the sound of this being  _my_  house."

Bucky sat up, eyes narrowed. "I thought we were friends."

"Sure," Sam said. "But your ass still don't pay rent so as far as I'm concerned, you can stop bitching and deal with my viewing schedule."

"Viewing—" Bucky stuttered, dumbstruck. "You're watching Netflix! Not to mention, you're watching  _shitty_  Netflix. At least put on some quality—"

"Listen up," Sam interjected, immediately pausing his show. "You can either go in the other room and sleep, sit here with me and quit bitching, or tell me why you really broke into my house at three thirty this morning. Because I sure as hell know that it's not 'cause you missed my drunk ass."

Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Sam waited with pursed lips and a cocked brow for the details while Bucky just stared at him blankly in an attempt to express his annoyance.

"Fine." Bucky moved himself into a more comfortable sitting position. "I can't stop myself from trying to kill my best friend and I really wish he wouldn't have gone through the trouble to get me this arm back because it's half the problem."

Sam nodded condescendingly, sipping his coffee loudly. "Go on," he droned dramatically. Bucky rolled his eyes until it hurt and then averted his gaze to his plated, shining fingers.

"I dunno what happened. We were both sleeping pretty soundly, but then we were both awake. There must have been a noise outside and we didn't realize or something. We started talking and all the sudden—"

He closed his eyes and squeezed the metal hand into a trembling fist.

"He makes me so...  _angry_. And it's not even... it's not even the other stuff, the bad stuff, the HYDRA stuff. It's  _me._  It's who I used to be coming back all at once. Hearing him talk the way he does, not taking care of himself like he should. It just pisses me off. He needs to start treating himself better. Drives me nuts, man."

He punched one of the throw pillows weakly, helplessly, his shoulders slumped forward.

"I guess that triggers the other stuff. I just lose control. Once I'm worked up from that, everything else floods in. And he's always there trying to bring me back down but it  _never works_. He knows it doesn't work and I try to tell him to stop but the words never come out right so he just keeps trying and then I try to kill him and I have to leave."

Sam was nodding along now and taking Bucky a little more seriously. His face had softened and it was obvious that he was actually listening.

"I'm afraid of what I can do to him, Sam." Bucky heaved a sigh. "I'm worried him. I keep thinking I have this shit under control and then outta nowhere..."

"So are you here to ask me permission to shatter his heart into a thousand pieces and go back?" Sam chuckled dryly. Then, seriously, "Because you already know what I'm gonna say. You were right the first time. It's the best for everyone until we can figure out how to fix your robot brain."

Bucky dropped his chin onto his chest and started picking at the embroidered pattern on the throw pillow in his lap. He nodded slowly, like he was still trying to come to terms with what he was about to say.

"Thing is... I don't think I want to go back." He sniffled a bit and rubbed his nose. "I don't think there  _is_  a way to get them out, you know? It's in there so deep... I'd probably have to do it all over again. Be...  _reprogrammed_." He sighed deeply, trying to hide his misty eyes from Sam. "Steve thinks that we can work on it and I believe him. God, I believe every word of it."

"Buuut..." Sam edged.

"I know that being around him is a double-edged sword. It helps me bring things back so much easier. He's the only piece of myself that I have left, the only solid reference to who I was before." Bucky scoffed quietly. " _But_  he's still... the mission. That's what I was made to do, take him out. They told me I 'shaped the century' with all the things I did—all the things they made me do—but it all goes back to him. If he hadn't gone under the ice when he did, he'd be dead. I would've killed him and Captain America's death would just be another history book conspiracy."

"No." Sam said, his voice sounding choked. He and Bucky shared a glanced, both of them surprised by how emotional he was getting. "No. He would've figured it out. Especially that early on, after your—After he thought you died. He would've recognized you. This could've—"

"God, you sound just like him." Bucky laughed, unamused. He couldn't meet Sam's prying eyes. "He's convinced that all of this is his fault. Everything. The arm, the Winter Soldier, the nightmares. He thinks he did this to me. That's why he won't stop. Can't... stop."

"He knows you chose to do all that, right? I mean, everything leading up to... Before, you know." Sam motioned silently at the arm. He wasn't sure how sensitive a topic it was for Bucky, he only knew how much it upset Steve.

"Yeah, he knows. We made a kind of, pact... thing, I guess. He asked if I was ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death and I told him hell no."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "You said no?" A smirk spread across Bucky's stubbly face, which only furthered Sam's confusion.

"I told him I was following the skinny kid from Brooklyn who was too dumb to walk away from a fight. My best friend, little Stevie. He seemed pretty happy with that and it sounded good." He paused, overcome with a soft, nostalgic smile. "I'm glad that's something I remember clearly. Clear as day."

Sam fought off a smile and tried to hide it by taking a long sip from his mug of room temperature coffee.

"You didn't mean it?"

"Nah."

Then Bucky's face dropped to something more solemn than hearty joking and he seemed to be looking through the carpet into a distant memory. He smiled fondly to himself, his chest bubbling with warmth.

"I meant every word. I'd follow that kid anywhere."

**—**

"You don't know when to give up, do you?"

Steve smirked, his eyes on the floor. "Never heard that one before."

Tony didn't seem amused. He sat across the desk from him, the shield sitting between them.

Steve shook his head in silent apology and tried again. "How's Rhodey?"

"Rhodes." Steve arched a brow but he still didn't get any eye contact from Tony until he continued. "You don't get to call him Rhodey. Or James. In fact, I'd rather you kept his name out of your mouth altogether."

Steve sighed deeply and folded his arms over his chest. "Tony..."

"You promised."

Steve let out a long breath and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to gather his thoughts. "Look," he started carefully. "I know I hurt—I know  _we_ hurt you, Tony. I don't know how many times you want me to apologize for—"

"I'd actually prefer that you stopped trying and left like you said you were going to the first, what was it?  _Three_  times?" Tony stood from his chair and turned his back to stare out the wide window behind him. "I read your letter. More than once. I get it, you're  _so_  sorry and you're here if we need you. But I think you're missing the point here, Cap."

"Enlighten me." Tony turned to him, hands crammed deep into the pockets of his trousers, and Steve couldn't help but feel like a child about to be scolded.

"We don't need you. All personal issues aside—and trust me, there's plenty of them—you are breaking the law. I could still call up Secretary Ross right now and have you and all your pals dragged back to The Raft. You hear me? All of them, and you'll be going too this time."

Steve inhaled sharply and stood slowly from his chair. "You wouldn't do that. You didn't even know they would throw everyone in there the first time around. We're still your friends, Tony."

The dark haired man snorted and immediately turned his back again. " _They_  are still my friends. Do us both a favor and stop including yourself in that category, Rogers. You've stepped over one too many lines one too many times."

"Bringing him back here was the only way to help him recover. The doctors were getting nowhere, I was miserable. He's my best friend, Tony. I spent all that time looking for him. I just got him back. I—"

"Can't just let him chill in an icebox until he's not a threat to society anymore, I know."

He was heading for the door and Steve didn't have it in him to try to stop him from leaving this time.

"They had Wanda in a shock collar, Tony, like an animal."

There was only a brief hesitation between them as Tony's freshly polished shoe hovered in the doorframe. He only turned his head slightly back toward Steve as he slid his red-tinted glasses onto the bridge of his nose.

"Then I guess you'd better get out of here before someone catches a lead on your band of criminals." He took a step out the door and stopped abruptly, shoes squeaking on the floor. "Oh, and you're not getting the shield back. So don't try anything funny."

**—**

Steve expected to come home to a quiet and empty apartment. He had a plan to sit in silence and sulk until Bucky came back or Nat stopped by to tell him she couldn't visit anymore.

He had known that things would only continue to go South if he continued to push against the current. He knew better than to break his friends out of a high security prison. It wasn't fair to leave them there, but Steve was starting to think it was even more unfair for them to live in fear and out of sight.

Steve fumbled with his keys noisily. When they finally slipped into the doorknob, he found it to be unlocked. Filled with brimming hope that Bucky had come back, he slowly opened the door into a fully-lit living room full of chattering companions that immediately went silent and turned to face him.

"Well," Steve said and peeled off his jacket. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

He scanned the room desperately but the only faces he found were those of Wanda, Scott, Sam, Clint, and Natasha. Everyone but Bucky. It struck a chord with him for some reason. Natasha offered an awkward wave from across the room where she sat with Clint.

"Sam?" Steve said quietly and nodded toward the kitchen. He immediately stood and met him in the next room.

"You want a beer? I bought some more," Sam said. As he held the fridge open, Steve stood against the counter, eyes down and arms crossed. "You definitely need a beer, man."

Steve waved off the cool bottle that Sam had extended to him.

"Where is he? He said he was going to your place and I haven't heard anything since last night."

Sam sighed deeply, the bottle of beer still outstretched.

"You're gonna want this."

"Where are you going?" Nat laughed nervously as she tried to get to the door before Steve could. He was already pulling his jacket back on and shaking his head. "Steve, slow down, all right? You just got here."

"I'll be back..." he trailed off, not making eye contact. "Eventually. You guys just... it's fine, you can stay here. Just don't get too loud. Neighbors are—"

When he turned to grab the doorknob, he was met with Clint standing guard. They looked at each other for a long moment until it became clear that neither of them were joking.

"Don't be stupid, man." Clint touched Steve's wrist gently and lowered his hand away from the door. "You've been out all day. If you keep running around like this, someone's going to see you."

"I'll be fine." Steve scoffed as he tried to brush past. He was met with a sharp shoulder in his chest and firm shove backward. "Clint." He looked around and realized that he'd been surrounded. Scott and Wanda were standing the farthest back, their eyes full of pity. "I'm not worried about being seen. Anyone out there who wants us... they're the least concerned about getting their hands on me. It's you guys I need to be worried about."

"All due respect, Captain America," Scott started. Steve turned to face him, eyebrows raised lazily. "But... you know, it's possible that Clint has a point. Like, I'm totally on your side here, absolutely, but... if anyone gets their hands on you, it could definitely, totally lead them back to us."

Steve sighed and smiled softly at his friends. He was tired. He wasn't sure what he could say to ward them off. He knew they'd never let him leave on his own free will. Even if everyone else did, Sam would stop him before he made it outside. He also knew that he needed to leave and he needed to do it soon.

"Alright." Steve sighed as he took a short step back from the door. "Alright, you guys have a point." He ran a hand over his face and through his hair and made eye contact with each of the people standing around him. "It's been a long day. You guys are all here. I'll stay."

Everyone chattered quietly as they moved back toward the living room. Natasha and Clint continued to side-eye him, but even that passed within minutes.

Steve was wired as he sat on the couch beside Sam. He tried to remain a participating part of the group conversation, but his mind wandered endlessly.

"Look, man," Sam muttered only for Steve to hear. He didn't take his eyes off his lap where his phone was sitting. "He's fine. He can take care of himself. Just gotta let him do this."

Steve chuckled dryly and scratched the back of his head, unsure of what to say to that.

There weren't very many coherent thoughts flowing through his mind; it was all a whirlwind of Bucky, Tony's words from earlier, worry, fear, confusion.

After enduring his team mates for over an hour, Steve was on the edge of an outburst. He stood suddenly, warranting the room to fall completely silent aside from Scott's drunken hiccuping.

"I'm, uh, I'm gonna turn in for the night, I think. Feel free to stay, really. There's plenty of room here," Steve said. He rubbed his eyes and offered a yawn for effect. "I'm totally wiped out."

A mumbled "goodnight" circled the room and Steve hoped they didn't resent him as much as he resented himself. He hated how deceitful he had needed to be the past few months but he couldn't seem to stop. He wasn't sure what drove him. Whatever it was, it was about to drive him off the fire escape in his bedroom and straight into Stark Tower.

However, when he opened his bedroom door, he was startled to see his white curtains billowing in the nighttime breeze. He'd definitely shut the window earlier. He always did.

Wide eyes scanned the room carefully, tired muscles tensed and ready to fire.

"At ease, soldier."

A shiver ran down Steve's spine at the sound of Bucky's voice. He tried to relax, but his fists were still clenched at his sides. He didn't turn around when he heard the door click shut behind him.

"I didn't think I'd see you tonight," Steve whispered. He only turned his chin slightly and caught a glimpse of the shadow behind him. "Sam said you went to Stark. Wouldn't let me leave."

"Yeah." Bucky scoffed. "I think that's what he calls a diversion. He was convinced we needed one."

" _We_ ," Steve said, spiteful. He tracked Bucky's movements as he moved past him to the edge of the bed. "He's... helping you."

"Something like that," Bucky chuckled, running his human fingers over the tangled comforter. "I didn't go to Tony. I wouldn't... I know how much that would bother you. I'm not completely insane, you know."

"You're not insane at all." Irritation was becoming much more clear in Steve's voice. "And the only reason it would bother me is because he would kill you. You know that and so does Sam."

"Like I said," Bucky sighed. "Diversion."

"So where did you go?" Steve asked desperately. Bucky dropped his head, his fingers stopped moving. Steve could hear his breathing. It was strangely even and controlled. His shoulders even looked relaxed. He didn't like this at all. It was all out of character and that made him think that Bucky was about to announce his imminent departure. "Bucky."

"I just needed..." He said before he swallowed thickly. Steve saw him nod shortly to himself. "I needed a second to figure out what happened. Why I just... lost it like that last night. So I wanted to head down to DC. The Smithsonian. It helps sometimes. I ended up staying here and just reading some stuff online."

Steve nodded slowly, his own shoulders beginning to relax as he stuffed his hands deep into his jean pockets. He knew the feeling of security that came with being surrounded by his own history. It had been part of Steve's routine for months after coming out of the ice, a coping mechanism, Nat had called it. It was nice to see people reading about all the things that had been accomplished because of Steve and the Howling Commandos, to see them admiring their work.

"Did it help?"

He was desperate for answers, desperate to know that Bucky could feel secure in Brooklyn again.

Bucky let out a long breath through his nose and slowly seated himself on the corner of the bed. His eyes were wide and misty, brow furrowed deeply as he thought on it.

"You know," he started. "I think it did. I think I realized what I need to do."

Steve's heart plummeted. He immediately stepped forward, ready to talk Bucky down from this discussion again.

"I need to stay here."

They both seemed shocked by his words. He still kept his eyes on the floor and Steve froze where he was standing.

"I put you in danger by coming here. But the rest of the world is in danger if I'm not. They're safe from me, but they're not safe from the things that Captain America could be protecting them from if he wasn't too busy looking for ways to help me."

He paused for a long time, his throat working. Steve gave him space, afraid to move.

"I realized that things are easier with Sam because I'm not worried about hurting him with what I might say about... anything. You..." Bucky took a deep breath. "Steve, I can see it killing you and it makes me not want to tell you any of it. Because I don't want you to know that kind of stuff. I only want to the good stuff for you. I can't give it to you. Not right now.  _But_  I think the only way we're going to work past all the bad is if I'm honest with you."

Steve's chest swelled. He wanted to rush forward and tackle Bucky into an inescapable bear hug and hold him for the rest of the night and kiss his cheeks, his forehead, every part of him. He also wanted to stay put, absorb this moment, make sure that it was all real.

"Well, don't say everything all at once," Bucky chuckled.

It was the first time Steve had gotten a glimpse of his best friend in months. His blue eyes welled up as Bucky finally looked at him, a soft smile painted on his face.

Steve was jealous but he would never say so. He was so jealous that Sam had been able to banter with Bucky and smart-ass him back into being a person again. Whenever Steve had tried, he was met with one-word answers or a tearful, flustered shell of Bucky Barnes trying to figure out how to be himself, whoever that was.

"So," Steve choked out as he tried to blink away his tears. "Where do we start with this honesty thing?"


	4. Chapter Four

**"THE NIGHTMARES**  are the worst, I think," Bucky started quietly. "Even the ones that don't wake me up... they stick with me. And I think that's why I'm having such a hard time, I dunno, letting go of everything, letting go of the... fear."

"You're not chasing me away," Steve said sleepily as he laid his head on Bucky's chest. He sniffled, still congested. "I'm not going anywhere. We've been over this."

Bucky shook his head and ran a hand through Steve's tousled hair. Letting out a long breath, he flexed his metal fingers.

"I know," he said. "I know you're not going anywhere and I think that's always been part of the problem. These nightmares... they're dangerous and they're worse when I'm here."

"Does being at Sam's help anything?"

Bucky shrugged and ran his thumb over Steve's cheekbone, focusing his soft touch there for several moments. "I guess. I've woken up a few times in his kitchen, disoriented, usually before he wakes up."

"Usually?"

"Yeah," Bucky said with a snort. "Other times I've woken up pinned to the floor with a knife to my throat or gun to my head. He's not shy about that shit."

Steve stifled a laugh and reached up to meet Bucky's touch on his cheek.

"What are yours about... specifically?" Steve asked carefully, fingers slowly tracing over Bucky's knuckles.

Bucky's fingertips hardly touched Steve's skin. His back had gone rigid against the mattress and it sounded as if his breathing had stopped completely.

"Buck, hey."

Steve slowly pulled himself up until he was sitting beside him.

"Hey, look, it's alright," he whispered. "It's all right, we don't have to get into that right now. We should sleep. It's late anyway."

Discouraged and embarrassed, Steve rolled to the opposite side of the bed and curled into himself.

He knew better than to push Bucky. Before everything, before the war, before Captain America, there had always been a limit to how much nagging he could take. Steve had a bad habit of pushing it and it often ended in long silences and occasionally days without contact.

"Get some sleep," Steve mumbled quietly as he tried to get comfortable. His heart was heavy. He stared out the window at the Brooklyn streetlight, beating himself up for being so overbearing and unaware of unspoken boundaries. "Oh, uh..." he said, turning his head enough so Bucky could hear him. "Everyone... Everyone's still out in the living room. If you wanna take the couch, you might have to wait 'cause I told them they could—"

Steve was cut off by the shock of the cold, metal arm sliding underneath him. He shivered as Bucky's right arm wrapped around him and pulled him close.

"I'm not going anywhere." Steve shuddered at the feeling of Bucky's breath tickling his neck. "Close your eyes. I'm here."

Steve sucked in a long, shaky breath and carefully laid one hand over Bucky's. He swallowed hard and nestled his head into the pillow.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Bucky let out a short exhale from his nose and rested his lips more purposefully against Steve's ear. His voice was so soft and careful that Steve was beginning to wonder if this was all some kind of too-good-to-wake-up-from dream. He didn't have many of those anymore.

"You just caught me off guard. If you want to talk about that, we can. I... know how much it will bother you."

"I want to hear it."

They laid in silence for a while, Bucky breathing into Steve's neck as they tangled their fingers together for the first time in far too long. They both closed their eyes and just let the feeling sink in.

"The worst ones," Bucky whispered, rubbing his thumb over Steve's palm. "The worst ones are just these... terrifying memories of the programming. The torture. They'd put these things on my head. I don't even know what they were, I don't know the science behind it or if there  _was_  science behind it. All I know was that after a while, I could feel the electricity running through my skull before it even started and long after it was done. I think that's part of what drove me, subconsciously, you know? To do the things I did. Some distant hope inside me that they would stop doing it."

Steve thought he had only winced internally until Bucky's arms tightened around him and brought him in closer.

"Those are the ones that usually wake me up. Other times, it's just confusing. Those words, they echo through my head. No matter how much I think they're gone..." he paused momentarily to even out his breathing, to keep his temper controlled. Steve realized that even  _thinking_  about the trigger words were probably enough to set him off sometimes. "And sometimes they're just like yours. The train... the fall."

Bucky shuddered. It was still a cloudy one for him in terms of imagery but the feelings were something he couldn't forget if he wanted to. The wind in his ears, the snow on his face, the feeling in his stomach as he plummeted down the snowy face of the cliff. Worst of all, the pain that had seemed to overtake his entire left side when he'd finally hit the ground.

Steve felt the metal arm flex beneath him and immediately clutched Bucky's right hand tighter in his own.

"It's okay," Bucky assured him. "I'm okay. It's just... intense... talking about it. Sam listens and I can get it out a lot of the time, but it's different..."

"I was there."

"Exactly," Bucky chuckled. "Yeah, exactly. You were there. You were on the other side of it. You had to... watch that happen."

Steve smiled sadly to himself and leaned his head back. "There's not a lot of people who relate to dropping their best friend off a moving train."

Bucky snorted and gave his hand a squeeze. "You think? How many people can say they fell off a train and  _survived_? Forget about finding people with a murderous bionic limb granted to them by a secret Nazis."

"You are... one of a kind." Steve sighed heavily. "That's for sure."

The two of them fell quiet again. Bucky was relieved when Steve's tensed muscles finally relaxed, fingers laying loosely between his own. To feel Steve comfortable and safe in his arms for the first time in decades was all he needed in that moment.

Carefully, Bucky slipped one of his legs between Steve's and used that to pull him even closer. Steve hardly moved, only shifted his shoulders and mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?" Bucky laughed quietly. "I don't think I caught that."

Steve hummed as he turned his head ever so slightly, sleepy smile painted on his face.

Bucky cautiously untangled his fingers from Steve's hand and gently wove them into his hair. It didn't take long after that for the soft snores to begin and Bucky's eyes to flutter shut.

He pressed his lips to the soft, heated skin of Steve's neck as his fingers ceased their lazy movement in the blond's hair.

"I love you, too."

**—**

"Do we wake them up?"

"Hell no. One of them is a sleeper cell assassin and the other is Captain America. Just slowly back out of the—"

Bucky stirred at the hushed voices in the room, but didn't open his eyes. He only pulled Steve closer buried his nose deeper into his shoulder.

"Shit, shit, shit. Abort, abort."

Bucky's eyes snapped open as he recognized the voice as Sam's. The two made prolonged eye contact, Bucky's blue eyes darting from Sam to Natasha and eventually settling on his arms wrapped around Steve. He was completely defenseless. He couldn't move or speak without waking him up, but he definitely needed to say something.

"There's breakfast," Natasha said before she pushed Sam from the room and shut the door.

"Shit," Bucky mumbled sleepily, his head falling back into the crook of Steve's neck the moment the door latched. "Looks like we've been made, Rogers."

Steve mumbled incoherently and pulled Bucky's right arm tighter around him, interlacing their fingers again. He was definitely still sleeping and Bucky wasn't really sure how he wanted to go about waking him or if he even wanted to at all.

"Hey." He started to move his left arm out from under Steve's limp body, and the sleeping man didn't show any sign of noticing. "I think Natasha made pancakes or something."

Steve groaned as he rolled over, off from the metal arm so he could bury his face in a pillow. "Too bright."

"I know." Bucky laughed softly, running his metal fingers along the length of Steve's spine. "But all your friends are out there. I don't know how we're going to explain the sleeping arrangement that went down last—"

"They're still here?" Steve was immediately alert. He sat up far too fast for his own good but he didn't have time to slow down. "Did anyone—"

"Nat and Sam." Bucky sighed as he pulled himself up to join Steve at the edge of the bed. "I think it's all right. They didn't seem terribly offended."

"Still. What if—" Steve paused upon making eye contact with Bucky and, seeing how relaxed he was, couldn't help but smile.

"Take a breath," he said. "You can go out there first. I'll go take shower and change into some clean clothes. Make sure they save me some food."

There wasn't much arguing with that, so Steve was left alone on the edge of his bed, cheeks flushed and heart racing. He didn't want to think that he would face judgment upon emerging into the kitchen, but he never knew. Even if they meant it lightheartedly, some of the comments his friends made stung.

Nevertheless, Steve was famished, so he pulled himself together and found his way to the brightly lit room. Two cups of coffee and two plates overflowing with food were waiting on the island for him and Bucky. Everyone else congregated in the living room to watch early morning Saturday cartoons. Everyone except Natasha.

"Morning, sleepyhead." She greeted Steve with a wide smile and offered him one of the steaming mugs. "Quite the night, then?"

"He came back on his own. I went to bed, just like I said I would. I'm just as surprised as you are." Steve nodded gratefully as he took a long sip of coffee. "Thank you for all this. Really."

"What's the plan?"

Her eyes were focused on the plate of food in front of her, but Steve knew the question was pointed and purposeful. She didn't mean the plan for the day or anything so mundane. Small talk wasn't something either of them excelled at.

"He said he's... staying. Here. In Brooklyn."

Steve couldn't bring himself to lift his head to look at her. He could already feel her judgment and the weight of her words before she said them.

"That will never work. You know that. You were supposed to be figuring out what you were going to do about—"

"That wasn't what the agreement was. Tony gave the shield back because Bucky was in Wakanda. I brought him back, I returned the shield, end of discussion. There's nothing else to be figured out. He's staying here and that's the end of it, Nat."

Steve turned quickly at the sound of shuffling feet behind him.

"Yeah. Try telling that to these guys." Clint scoffed, chin tilted back toward the living room. "Sam, Nat, Barnes, you, me... We all handle ourselves. We know how to lay low. Wanda and Scott—"

"Can take care of themselves. I'm watching out for them, Clint. They'll be fine when this blows over," Steve said, frustration mounting in his voice.

"When this blows over?" His eyes darted from Steve to Natasha and then back again. "I don't know if you've been paying attention, Cap, but we're fugitives. All of us. They want Wanda back in that prison in a shock collar and you're telling me that your part-time supervision is going to protect her from that?"

Natasha drew in a sharp breath. The room fell silent aside from the chatter on the television as Bucky entered the room. All eyes were on him except for Steve's.

"Good morning to you guys, too," Bucky huffed under his breath as he moved toward the island and scooped up his plate and cup of coffee. "I'll be in the guest bedroom if anyone shows up to arrest us."

Natasha and Clint watched patiently until Bucky disappeared before their eyes slowly moved back to Steve.

"Guest bedroom," Natasha remarked curtly. Her fiery hair fell over one shoulder as she tilted her head. "He's settling, Steve."

"Yeah," Steve coughed. "Why is that so bad? Everyone is safe. Tony has the shield. He's being peaceful. Bucky hasn't hurt anyone and he won't ever again. Being here is the only thing that can help him."

" _Steve_ —"

He held up his free hand to stop her.

"T'Challa's doctors are incredible, but they weren't making progress. They can work on that while he's  _here_. He needs to be here, Nat. He needs to learn how to be a person again, and that won't happen in a cryotube."

"Maybe not," she said, her voice much softer than before. "But he's dangerous. Stark is—"

"Stark is not in control. He doesn't control my decisions and I'll be damned if he tries to control Bucky's life. He's been the through the wringer. The least we could do—" Steve paused to collect himself. His blood was boiling. He could feel the color in his face, ears, and neck and he hated how upset he was. "The least we could do is give him some stability. A life. A chance to find himself and at least  _try_ to rebuild."

Natasha's chin dropped to her chest, face hidden beneath her hair. Steve knew he'd hit a nerve. She understood the pain of having people play in her brain and use her for things she didn't want to do, unspeakable things, just like Bucky. Steve knew that Clint understood too, though he'd never admit if it meant compromising his stance on keeping Wanda and Scott off the Raft.

Clint hadn't experienced the life that Natasha and Bucky had gone through. He wasn't forced to relive it every time he closed his eyes. He hadn't been trapped in the tight, suffocating grip of the KGB like Natasha and Bucky had.

"You have too much faith in him." Clint scoffed before he turned away. "Plain and simple, Cap. That's all it is."

The only thing that stopped Steve from lunging forward was the room full of witnesses, a room full of his closest friends who would never forget a violent outburst from someone who was usually so even tempered.

"You know, maybe he has a point."

He couldn't bear to face Natasha. His fists shook at his sides and he had to clench his teeth to stop venom from spilling out his mouth.

"You looked for him for so long, you've been dragged through hell and back again and again. Maybe the Barnes you were looking for... just doesn't exist anymore."

"Of course he does." His voice faltered and it embarrassed him but he continued regardless. "You and Clint have seen the worst of each other and you never gave up. How can you two, of everyone in this house, ask me to give up on him?"

"Steve—"

"No," he choked out. "Don't tell me that's not what you're asking because you know it is. You are asking me to abandon him and I won't do it, Nat. Not after everything. Not after what we  _all_ went through to get him back."

Steve's shoulders shuddered. He was livid, betrayed, appalled by the fact that every person he trusted was willing to turn around on him. He brushed past Natasha and took his cold plate from the island.

"Thanks for breakfast."

** — **

"I'll talk to Stark," Bucky mumbled around his mouthful of pancakes. He kept his eyes down as he cut his food into infinitely smaller pieces. "We'll sort something out, come to some kind of agreement."

"Absolutely not." Steve pulled his legs under him and settled against the headboard. "He'll cuff you and throw you right back on a jet to Wakanda. There's another way to get around this and I'll find it. I just need... time."

Bucky pushed Steve's plate closer to him, eyeing his best friend longingly. "Please eat something. It's really good."

"I know, she does this whenever she wants something." Steve folded his arms across his chest and let his head fall back. "She wants me to send you back."

"I'll talk to her, then. We get along. Shared experience and all that good stuff." Bucky took another enormous bite of food and continued to talk with his mouth full. "This doesn't have to be as hard as you're making it. These are your friends we're talking about here. Teammates, people who—"

"People who have expressed again and again that they think you're a danger to society and they would much prefer to keep you in a box." Steve sucked in a long breath and looked away, desperate to avoid Bucky's prying eyes. "This is just an adjustment period. None of us do well with change and this is different. That's it. They'll get over it. If they don't, I'll deal with it."

"Will he?"

Steve's teeth ground together, heat rising up his neck again. He didn't want to lash out at Bucky—or anyone—but it was getting harder with every passing moment.

"I killed his parents, Steve. Just... think about that. If you found out that it wasn't tuberculosis, that someone  _did_ that your mom—"

Steve stood from the bed in a huff. Bucky fell silent and shoveled more food into his mouth. He watched carefully as Steve paced the width of the guest bedroom, pinching the bridge of his nose and mumbling under his breath.

"Maybe if we just—"

"You're not going back, dammit!" They stared at each other, equally bewildered by Steve's outburst. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry."

"No, uh..." Bucky's eyes fell back to his lap. "It's okay. You're... it's okay. You're putting a lot of pressure on yourself. These are your friends we're talking about here. It's... daunting."

Steve shook his head and slowly crossed the room and joined Bucky on the bed again. He couldn't face him, but he tried his hardest to piece together some sort of apology.

"It's really hard to constantly hear how dangerous you are. To have people try to convince me that I don't know what I'm talking about, try to tell me that I don't know _you_. You're still my best friend, Bucky. You're all I've got."

"That's not true, Steve." Bucky chuckled. "You have a room full of people out there and half the world on your side. You're Captain fuckin' America. Give yourself some credit."

Steve shook his head and slowly turned. "That's not the point. That's not... I didn't spend all this time for  _them_. I didn't drag all of them through hell for any other reason than to get  _you_ back. I know you're safe in Wakanda. I know they take great care of you there, but this is home. This is—"

"Where I belong?" Bucky's eyes were wide and soft as he waited for Steve to continue, but he didn't say anything. "I'm not sure I belong anywhere anymore. You're the only piece of myself I have left, so it makes sense to stay here, but not if it just causes trouble."

"How many times do I have to tell you that it's worth it?" Steve turned and faced Bucky, his eyes prickling with tears threatening to spill over. "How many times do we have to run in this circle of you telling me you're not? How many times before you believe me? Before you can relax and feel safe here?"

Bucky let out a long breath through his nose and leaned forward to take Steve's burning face into his hand. He bridged the gap between them and rested their foreheads together.

"It's not about my safety. I already know that here is the safest place I could be. But when other people are in danger because I'm here, that's not right." Steve closed his eyes and tried to shake his head but Bucky's grip on his jaw was firm. "I'm not going anywhere, all right? But if this keeps getting worse—"

"I'll deal with it, Buck."

Bucky smiled fondly and ran his thumb over Steve's cheekbone. His chest was bursting with emotion, his eyes brimming with tears. "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve to have someone love me this much."

Steve's eyes widened so far that Bucky thought they'd surely fall out of their sockets. Steve opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat as Bucky's soft lips pressed against his temple.

"I-I never..." Steve stuttered, his eyes falling closed as Bucky kissed his forehead, his cheeks, down the bridge of his nose.

Just like that, Steve was back in 1928, ten years old and overwhelmed by Bucky's presence. Even at such a young age, he had been otherworldly in Steve's eyes.

1934, sixteen and struggling not to stare longingly at his best friend as they walked through the city in the middle of the night. Bucky always had to make sure Steve got home safe. If he walked home alone, he'd start a fight somewhere. Steve always feigned irritation but it made him feel so much safer to have Bucky there.

Eighteen, his mother dying of tuberculosis, his father already gone in the war before Steve had ever really known him. He was going to be alone for the rest of his life. He had nothing, he was helpless. The Army wouldn't have him and no one else took him seriously.

Somehow, he still had Bucky. Who would hold him close and let him cry for as long and as hard as he needed. Everytime, without fail.

Steve was ninety-seven years old but didn't look a day over twenty-five, sitting on the bed of a guest bedroom in a Brooklyn apartment that he'd never thought he could afford, Bucky practically in his lap and threatening to kiss him for the first time in nearly eighty years.

Everything about it was surreal and Steve was paralyzed with the realization that this all could have very well been some kind of fever-induced dream that he could wake up from at any moment.

The war, the serum, The Avengers, The Winter Soldier, what if it was all in his head?

What if all of it really  _was_ too good to be true? The feeling of Bucky's breath on his mouth was the only thing that reassured Steve that these feelings couldn't be imagined. No matter how many times he'd gone over it in his head, nothing compared to the real thing and that's what he had in that moment.

"Steve." Bucky snickered, his lips hovering just his mouth. "It's not 1945. I don't think you need to handwrite a letter confessing your love in order for me to get the message."

Steve let out a sobbing laugh as his hands came up to Bucky's scruffy cheeks and their lips finally met.

It was different than any of the stupid things they'd dared each other to do in middle school in a dark basement. It was so much  _more_ ; there wasn't any fear or boundary between them anymore. It was passionate and warm and safe and... perfect.

They broke away, breathless. Steve's forehead fell onto Bucky's shoulder and from there they both fell back onto the mattress, Bucky's arms tangled around Steve's torso.

"So," Bucky sighed, his good hand coming up to tangle his fingers in Steve's hair. "You gonna tell me why that took the better part of a century to happen for real?"

"If I had to guess," Steve chortled, still trying to catch his breath as he propped himself up on an elbow. "I'd say it's because, for the last century of our lives, you have been the sparkling image of heterosexuality."

"Mmm," Bucky hummed suspiciously. He looked over at Steve with a smirk. "You're Captain America. If  _anyone_ —"

"God, shut  _up_." Before Bucky could open his mouth again, he was trapped in another long kiss. "Why didn't you say something?"

"When it was illegal to be even a little bit gay or while I was being brainwashed by multiple government agencies? I feel like I might be justified in both cases, but..."

Steve's insides bubbled with warmth. His chest felt like it could burst at any moment. Bucky was himself. Bucky loved him back. Bucky felt safe and relaxed enough to joke, to kiss him. That's what everything had been about and Steve hadn't really realized it until that moment, and he didn't think anything else in life would ever feel that great.

** — **

It was a while before the two emerged from the guest bedroom. The living room was still filled to the brim with their friends and they were still watching television. Steve was happy to see that everyone had been unfazed by the spectacle in the kitchen earlier.

"So, if you don't mind me asking," Steve bellowed as he stepped in front of the TV, much to everyone's complaint. "Are you guys just going to shack up here for the rest of your natural lives? I just need to know if I should start collecting rent."

A mumble went around the room. Steve chuckled and clicked off the TV before he folded his arms across his chest. No one else matched his lighthearted joking, they all had their eyes averted and remained silent.

"We're waiting for Stark," Clint muttered, his eyes trained on the floor. Everyone else's fell as Bucky and Steve waited for a further explanation.

Steve's heart jumped to his throat. He never knew what to expect with Tony. If he was coming directly to his apartment, there could be anything on the agenda. "What? Why is coming here?"

"Picking us up," Sam said quietly. "Well, them. Wanda, Scott, Natasha and Clint. I get to stay, for some reason."

"He's taking us back to the compound upstate." Natasha took a deep breath. "Until he can figure out what he's going to do."

Bucky stared at Steve flushed face, waiting for a solution. When one didn't come, he spoke up. "He doesn't have to  _do_  anything. This is ridiculous. What else did he say?"

"Nothing," Clint said. "He didn't say anything else. He called us right after Steve left the Tower last night. Told us all to be here in the morning."

Steve swallowed thickly and closed his eyes to suppress a scream that he so desperately needed to let out. The anger inside him was comparable to little else. He hadn't experienced such an intense spectrum of emotions since the Accords.

More specifically, since meeting Tony in Siberia, and he wasn't a fan of being unable to get himself under control. He was sure his teeth would be ground down the gums by the time Tony arrived, but somehow he made it through.

As soon as Stark stepped through the door, Steve captured his suit jacket between his fists and pinned him against the wall beside the doorframe.

"What are you doing?" Steve spat, his entire body vibrating with rage. "What the  _hell_  are you doing here? You have no right. We settled this already."

Everyone in the room stood, ready to interfere. Bucky stayed the closest to Steve, eyes wide and muscles ready to fire at a moment's notice.

"Get off me," Tony hissed. His voice shook and it didn't faze Steve in the slightest. "Rogers, if you don't let go of me this  _instant_ , I'll tell them to ready the sniper."

They all knew he was bluffing, but something in Tony's eyes made Steve back down. He knew there was backup somewhere in or around the apartment building. There always was with Tony. Steve wouldn't risk everyone else's safety.

Tony huffed and straightened out his clothes. "Well, now that we got that out of the way, are we ready to go?"

"They're not going anywhere."

Tony eyed Steve before feigning a dramatic eyeroll. "Look, an arrangement's been made, Cap. No one's going back to the Raft. They're all safe for now, so you can give up the mother bird complex."

"For now," Steve growled through gritted teeth. "Until  _you_  decide to send them back, right?"

"Steve—" Bucky tried, reaching out to him.

"I don't think you've been exactly paying attention, Cap, but I'm the one working under the law. So, yeah, if I decide that the Raft is the safest place for our friends, that's where they'll go until they decide to sign a piece of paper. Same as before. Nothing's changed."

"A piece of paper that strips us of our rights, our freedom to choose what this team does and how we do it"

Tony rolled his eyes again and turned his back. His hand hovered on the doorknob, as if the conversation was holding him up. Steve hoped it was.

"I don't know if anyone else is getting some serious déjà vu right now, but I definitely am. I'm ninety-eight percent sure we already had this discussion about eight months ago. So, if you will, Mother America, let the children come with Daddy so I can tuck them in safe and sound."

** — **

Steve stood in the middle of the living room for a solid twenty minutes after the door had closed. Sam left to go back to his own apartment and Bucky sat cross-legged on the couch, waiting for a tantrum or breakdown that never came.

Most of the day was spent on the couch watching anything that came on TV. Steve didn't care for any of it and Bucky couldn't concentrate on anything but Steve's blank stare. Bucky had made coffee at some point but Steve hardly touched his cup before he abandoned it on the table and continued to brood at the carpet.

"Sam just texted me." Bucky made his way back into the living room. It was the first thing that had been said in a few hours, but it didn't get much of a reaction from Steve. "Says he's bringing pizza. Sound good?"

Steve shrugged against the couch. When Bucky had left him ten minutes prior, he'd been sitting with his feet up on the coffee table. Now he was lying on his side, curled into himself, twirling his phone between his fingers.

"You haven't eaten all day." Bucky huffed as he flopped down on the opposite end of the couch. "Pizza is always a good plan."

"Yeah."

Pizza was a good plan, but it wasn't good enough. Steve sat idly on the couch the same way he had all day. Sam and Bucky held up a normal conversation as the three of them stuffed their faces. They tried to pull Steve in, but nothing stuck. Every now and then, he'd give them a one-word answer or a chuckle but that was all.

It wasn't until late into the night after Sam had gone home drunk and Steve and Bucky laid in bed that either of them uttered a word about Tony.

"I'm okay." Steve started, eyes trained on the ceiling. "I just thought this was over. I really did. I should know better by now. Nothing is over until Tony can say he's won."

Bucky turned on his side so he could look at Steve; he was nothing but a silhouette in the dim light from the streetlamp outside, but somehow Bucky still saw how contorted his face was in frustration.

"Try to get some sleep. That's the best thing right now. Just take care of yourself first, Steve. You can't save the world if you don't get your beauty rest."

"I just wanna know what he wants. It's not the shield, it's not everyone back in the Raft. He's just dangling that over my head. He doesn't actually want them back there." Steve groaned and rolled until he bumped into Bucky and buried his head in the mattress. "I don't know. I don't know what to do."

Bucky laughed softly and tousled Steve's hair. "Sleep. We can figure this out in the morning over breakfast with Sam."

Steve let out a long breath and turned his head so he could see Bucky out of the corner of his eye. He was still propped up on his metal arm, smiling softly down at Steve.

"Thank you," Steve whispered. Bucky tilted his head in question, so Steve went on. "For everything. Being there, no matter what. Not just now. Always. My whole life, you've always been there. I don't know how we ended up here. I wake up every morning surprised that it wasn't a dream, surprised that I'm in an apartment in Brooklyn and not in a tent getting ready for a USO show."

Bucky opened his mouth to interrupt, but he stopped short as Steve sat up so their faces were level with each other.

"I wake up every morning terrified that I'll still be in that place; trying to win two wars at once. Trying to mourn my best friend and trying to fight the bastards that took him away from me in the first place."

"Steve..." Bucky's eyebrows knit together tightly as he fought to find words to say. He had a feeling in his chest that hadn't been stirred up in so long—feelings that he'd only ever had to worry about around Steve. "I don't—"

"Then don't," Steve cut in as he scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Bucky's torso. The rest of the night was silent. It took a while for them to fall asleep, but they were alive and they were together. Everyday walls came down between them, and that's all either of them could have asked for. 


	5. Chapter Five

**"WHERE'D HE GET**  the new arm, Rogers?"

"Stop," Steve panted. His forehead glistened with a fresh sheen of sweat. "Just...leave him alone."

His eyes followed Tony across the room. Steve couldn't make out much, but he could see the glint of Bucky's metal arm.

Steve glanced at his hands and jerked for the hundredth time against the restraints at his wrists. From what he could tell, the metal chair was bolted to the floor and it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. A loud groan escaped his mouth with the strain of trying to break out of confinement, and when he didn't succeed his chin fell to his chest in defeat.

He was discouraged, exhausted, confused. Tony's intentions weren't clear, but Steve didn't like the way the night had played out up to that point.

The room was dark and damp. The smell of mildew hung heavily in the air and Steve had to guess they were in some kind of basement. With another glance down at himself, he saw that he was in uniform, the white star on his chest dirtied with dried blood. His own? Tony's? He couldn't recall.

"You know..." Tony taunted from across the room. Steve didn't bother to respond. "If you don't tell me, I'll have to get answers out of him."

Steve snapped to attention at the sound of the repulsors charging up again. Bucky's face appeared from the shadows in the glow of the Iron Man suit.

Steve's shoulders trembled as he tried to lunge forward, but the restraints wouldn't budge.

"No!" he sobbed, helpless. "Stop! Stop!"

He jerked again at the sounds of the repulsor blast and Bucky's outcry, but he was powerless. "You gave us the blueprints!" He slumped in his seat. The rest came out in broken sobs and gasps of breath. He couldn't stop repeating himself.

The same sentence ran into itself, over and over like tumbling dominoes until Steve gained some kind of composure. He took a deep breath and tried to lift his head with little success.

"Wanda," he said, his voice a bit steadier. "We took Wanda to the Tower and she... We used her. We used Wanda to get you to give up the blueprints because we knew you never would do it yourself. She got you to tell us who to talk to in Wakanda about vibranium and she made sure you wouldn't remember any—"

Tony's footfalls bounded off the cement walls and grew unbearably loud by the time he approached Steve and hovered over him. Steve sucked in a sharp breath as he faced the cold eyes of someone he once considered a friend. A teammate. Someone whom he couldn't help but feel betrayed by.

However, Steve knew that Tony had been betrayed, too. He'd never deny that.

"After everything," Tony started slowly, voice shaking with the effort of stopping himself from screaming. "You still didn't have enough. I let you have Barnes alive, pretended not to know anything about your breach at The Raft. You had to take more. You always have to—"

"He was helpless," Steve said. He narrowed his eyes at Tony and threw himself forward again. "You're the one that took his arm from him in the first place. That's the only reason Wanda helped us! Because it was your fault!"

Steve's chest heaved as he twisted his wrists, trying his hardest to gather any kind of strength. His skin burned, rubbed raw from his efforts. The repulsors were charging up again but Tony was silent. Steve braced himself for a blow until he realized Tony's hand was aimed back toward Bucky.

The metal of the chair groaned under Steve's weight as he lurched forward in a final attempt to stop Tony, only to find himself sitting up in bed, trembling. Vision blurred and throat burning, he brought his t-shirt to his face and wiped away the sweat and tears, shaken to the core by the nightmare.

"Steve..." He jumped at the sound of his name. Bucky was sitting beside him, his eyes wide and full of concern. "You were screaming."

"What..." Steve whispered, his voice hoarse as his eyes surveyed the bright room. "What time is it?"

"Seven—" Bucky's voice cracked and he cleared his throat to try again. "It's seven in the morning. Do you...Can I—" he stuttered, tripping over his own tongue. He took a deep breath, trying to ease his own panic. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Steve shakily pushed himself to the edge of the bed and sat there for a moment, chest still rising and falling too quickly. "I just...need a minute."

"Can I do anything?" Bucky asked after a moment. He wrung his hands as he watched cautiously. "Steve?"

Steve made a short noise of protest as he brought an uneasy hand to his forehead. "I'll be okay. It was just...intense. That's all. Uh...you want coffee?"

"I'll get it," Bucky blurted.

They both jumped from the bed at the same moment. Bucky was halfway to the door when Steve's knees buckled beneath him, leaving him a defeated heap on the floor.

"Oh, my God." Bucky was immediately at his side. "Steve—"   
"I'm fine," Steve hissed. He waved Bucky off. "I'm fine...I just...it's...It was real. I could  _feel_ it." He rubbed his wrists, his eyes darting back and forth across the floor. "Tony..."

Bucky laid a reassuring hand on Steve's shoulder. He tried his hardest to offer a smile but he was far too troubled by Steve's current state for it to be convincing.

"It wasn't real. Tony isn't going to do anything. It's all just a show. A big man in a suit of armor, that's all."

Steve lifted his head to look Bucky in the eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Who told you about that?"

Bucky tilted his head in confusion, which elicited a quiet chuckle from Steve as he pulled himself off the floor, his nightmare nearly forgotten.

"A couple years ago when we started working together, we had this spat. It was before New York, everyone was on edge. He was trying to mess with Banner, set him off, you know? I'd had enough of it." Steve laughed again and looked over at Bucky, who was obviously still perplexed. "That's exactly what I said to him. 'Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off and what are you?'"

Bucky snickered at Steve's imitation of his own voice. "Nobody told me about that. I definitely would've remembered."

"That's funny," Steve whispered absentmindedly. He smiled at the memory. Tony had made him so angry that day. His stomach had twisted in knots every time they had to share a space together with the effort of keeping an even temper. All of that paled in comparison the rage he felt now at the mention of his name.

"So, what'd he say?" Bucky inquired playfully. Steve cocked a brow and Bucky bumped shoulders with him. "What is he when he takes off the suit?"

Steve snorted and rolled his eyes. He straightened his back and pretended to button a suit jacket. "Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist."

"Philanthropist!" Bucky managed through a hearty chuckle. "Right, right. He is the shining embodiment of selflessness."

"Yeah," Steve said quietly as his eyes fell to his lap. "I dunno. Sometimes I wish it was easier. I guess it would have been if I would've just signed. Everyone else would have followed my lead. This whole thing..." He paused to glance back up at Bucky's new, shining vibranium arm. "I could've stopped all of it before it even had to happen."

"Maybe," Bucky offered. He scooted closer to Steve and threw his good arm around him, giving him a squeeze."But if you did that, you would have been in the UN building with Nat when the bastard tried to blow it up. You would've missed Peggy's funeral and you wouldn't have found me in Bucharest."

Steve looked over at him, the shadow of a smirk hovering over his face. "You know I would've done that anyway." Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I would've found a way to Peggy's funeral. It all would've worked out somehow..." His face fell before he went on. "Just maybe without so much pain."

Bucky smiled fondly and kissed Steve's temple in an attempt to shift his mood. "How  _did_ you find me? I was so careful about everything and then you were just... _there._ "

"A magician never reveals his tricks." Steve laughed quietly. Bucky rolled his eyes again and pushed him away playfully. "Okay, okay, fine," Steve said, pulling Bucky back by his good arm. "We were with Sharon when we saw it on the news in London, after the funeral. Sam and I may or may not have followed her to Vienna. She may or may not have given me a file they'd been putting together. From there, we just followed Task Force."

" _Just_." Bucky snorted. "You  _just_ followed them. Christ, Steve."

"Well,  _chased_  them, I guess." Steve couldn't help but laugh at Bucky's shocked expression, but he continued anyway. "We had to get ahead of them. And after we realized where they were going, Sam dropped me on the balcony of your apartment and there we were."

"Timing was crazy." Bucky laughed with a tinge of sadness. His eyes were wide and misty as he stared down at the mattress. "God, I was so scared. I knew they were coming for me when I saw the newspapers. I should've kept running, booked it to the Philippines or something. That would've been the smart thing to do, you know? But I had to go back."

They were quiet for a moment, both of them looking down into their laps. "For the journals," Steve finally said. He let out a long breath through his nose and slid his hand into Bucky's.

Bucky shook his hair into his face and swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. Even after it was all done and over with, the thought of losing all of his progress made him nauseous. Everything he'd went through in those two years—all the Smithsonian visits, nights spent scribbling down the bits of memories as they came back to him. It could have all been gone had he not returned to his apartment in time.

_Roger, Roger, Roger... Don't know anyone named Roger._

_Do I?_

_No. It's not right. That's not right. No good. Someone else. Something else. Another name._

Days later, after he'd settled into a temporary safe house in Florida, the name came to him. He was lying on the floor of an abandoned warehouse with a lumpy Jansport under his head. The name  _Roger_  ran behind his eyelids like movie credits, driving him mad.

_Steve._

_Steve Rogers._

The name had brought bubbles to the pit of Bucky's stomach, sent him scrambling in the dark for his journal, desperate to write it all down. The name, the feelings, the burning in the back of his throat.

_Steve. The man on the bridge. The hovercraft. The river. Captain America. Steve Rogers._

He could have lost all of it if he had continued to run. Surely whenever he was caught, they'd use it against him. Taunt him. He was glad Steve had been the one to find the journals that day.

"I couldn't just leave," Bucky finally said. He was choked up more than he wanted to reveal, but he knew it'd be obvious to Steve. "Not without you."

Steve drew in a sharp breath, unsure of how to respond. The feelings were still fresh in his mind; the way his heart had stopped, his brain completely scrambled when he had opened Bucky's journal to a picture of himself. Flipped through the pages, weighed down with ink, to see his own name scribbled over and over amongst the colored sticky notes and highlights. It was obvious, even then, how hard Bucky had worked at regaining his memory.

"They were all I had," Bucky continued. "I visited the Smithsonian as much as I could before I couldn't stand staying in the US anymore. I tried to move around. Florida, Texas, Washington, New York. It didn't matter. I was paranoid no matter what. So I went to Europe, decided some travel couldn't hurt, right?"

He sneered. "What a joke. I knew better. Just thought that it might help something, you know? I knew traveling was something I used like. I still had that piece of myself somewhere inside me and I wanted to take advantage of that. Expand on it, see what memories it would lead me back to. All I did was get you and your friends into all kinds of trouble."

"Hey," Steve said. He gave Bucky's hand a reassuring squeeze. "We did that to ourselves. The Accords would have happened regardless."

Bucky pursed his lips and squeezed Steve's hand in return. "I'm just glad you were there. I wouldn't have put up a fight if you hadn't been. As much trouble as this whole thing has caused..." He looked down at his metal arm for a moment and then back up at Steve. "I think I'm pretty okay with how it turned out."

"If I hadn't gone under—"

" _Stop_ ," Bucky whined. He rolled his eyes and fell back onto the bed dramatically. "If they would've thawed you out any sooner, the rest of the world might not even  _be_  here, let alone be the way it is now. If the world had lived long enough to see the Battle of New York, they'd be shit outta luck without Captain America."

"I could've stopped the Winter Soldier. I would have gotten you out of there and everything would have gone back to normal."

"There is no _normal_ , Steve." Bucky groaned. He massaged his eyes with the palms of his hands. "You're a fucking super soldier. You're Captain America. You have an exhibit in the Smithsonian, for Christ's sake. Maybe you could have stopped me earlier. Maybe you could have grown old with Peggy and had a thousand little babies and then died before the Avengers were even an idea."

Steve's breath hitched in his throat when Bucky pulled himself up into a sitting position and grabbed tightly onto his cheeks, thumbs pressing firmly into his heated skin.

"But maybe  _not._  Who's to say you even  _can_  grow old? Or conceive children? What kind of life would that have been? My God, you'd have been a wreck. Even more a wreck than usual. It would have  _ruined_  you to watch her grow old and die while you stayed twenty-five." Bucky paused to look back and forth between Steve's oceanic eyes now brimming with tears. "This is exactly where you're supposed to be, numbskull."

Bucky leaned in and pressed their lips together, but their kiss was interrupted by Steve's laughter.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Steve laughed against Bucky's mouth before he pulled away slowly. "You ruined the romantic speech when you capped it off with an insult."

Bucky rolled his baby blue eyes, hands falling away from Steve's face. "You are such a punk." He began to stand from the bed but Steve pulled him back, their lips meeting heatedly on the way down.

"Jerk," he said against Bucky's mouth before giving him another long kiss. "That better?"

They stared at each other for another prolonged moment after they'd separated, both amused and more than pleased with themselves.

"I'm glad we can finally do that," Steve said softly, his fingers catching Bucky's again. "It's... nice."

"We've always been able to do that," Bucky said as he pulled Steve up onto his feet and wrapped his arms around him. "It was just a matter of being ready for it."

"Trust me," Steve said. "I was more than ready for a very long time."

Bucky snorted against Steve's t-shirt, still damp with sweat. "Trust me, I know."

Steve scoffed and pulled away so he could look Bucky in the eyes again. "You did not. You were  _far_ too busy with... being Sergeant Barnes. Stealing all the ladies, cutting their food with your jawline, all that stuff."

"Steve," Bucky cooed. His tone bordered on condescending. "I've known you since you were two. You are not subtle. Or a good liar."

"Whatever," Steve huffed, pulling Bucky in for another hug. "We've made it this far and that's what matters. Granted, things just keeping more and more complicated, but..."

"We've got each other." Bucky smiled against Steve's shoulder and planted a gentle kiss to his neck. "We can do anything if we've got each other."

**—**

The compound itself hadn't changed much since the last time Steve was been there. It was the changed atmosphere that made his skin crawl. Everything was quiet, but that wasn't necessarily the strange part. Things weren't peaceful or serene; it was loaded silence. As if something or someone could explode at a moment's notice.

"Well, this is... homey," Bucky said. He spun around on a barstool across the kitchen from Steve. "Don't know why you'd ever leave  _this_  place."

"It's not usually this..." Steve's face contorted as he searched for a word. "Eerie."

There was always something going on there. Music, pool, an argument, even a game of chess.

"Dunno why it's so quiet," Steve continued, eyes scanning the open room for any clue of something gone wrong. Everything was untouched, like no one had been back there since before things had turned. It felt like a dream. He half expected to see the thick volume of the Sokovia Accords sitting on the coffee table where he'd left it the last time he was here.

Steve's train of thought was interrupted by the tapping of a someone's toe against the tile floor. Steve spun on his heel and found himself facing Tony and Vision on the other side of the living room. He guessed they'd been standing there for quite some time.

Realization washed over Steve like a suffocating ocean wave. His eyes fell and so did his heart; he'd never felt so played and foolish.

"They're not here," Steve said. "They're not here and you were never going to bring them here."

"What?" Bucky cut in, standing noisily from his barstool. "What are you talking about?"

Steve shook his head and let out a dry laugh, his blood boiling at the sight of Tony's smugness. Vision stayed behind him, head bowed. Steve assumed he was there for backup.

"So." Steve took a few steps toward Tony, his hands spread wide. "What now, Stark? Where are they? Take 'em back to the Raft?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Tony nodded, looking Steve up and down. He was relaxed and apparently amused by it all. "I wouldn't recommend trying anything, Cap. Looks like we've both got our guard dogs. My money's on Vision if it comes down to a fight."

"Where  _are_  they?" Steve hissed, his jaw clenched tightly. "You have no right to do this. You don't hold any authority over any of us."

"Maybe not, but I'm definitely the only one playing by the rules."

" _Your_  rules," Bucky said. Tony tipped his head to look at him as he came up behind Steve. "You're playing by your own rules. That's hardly fair."

"Hmph," Tony chuckled, giving Bucky a once-over. "Life isn't fair, Barnes. But you know all about that already, so I'll spare you the lecture."

Steve stepped in front of Bucky, blocking Tony's line of sight. "Let them go. They didn't do this."

"You're right! They didn't. You did." Tony let out a cold snicker that sent another wave of rage over Steve. "Too bad for them, though, considering you're one stubborn little shit."

"What do you want?" Bucky blurted, his brows pulling tightly together. He stepped around Steve so he could make eye contact. "You've put on this whole show—you obviously knew he'd come here to check on them—so what's the point? What's your endgame?"

Tony was silent, his eyes still trained on Steve, whose face was growing more and more pink with each passing moment.

"You," Steve muttered. His eyes didn't leave Tony's. He wanted to see some kind of falter there, something to prove him wrong. There was nothing. Only a tilt of the head and a deepened smirk.

"What?" Bucky turned on his heel to look at Steve again, then back at Tony. "What do you mean?"

"He wants you. He's trying to make me choose. You or everyone else."

" _Trying_." Tony scoffed, fighting off a laugh. "I'm not  _trying_  to do anything. Every day that you let them live in danger or in a prison cell, you make a choice. I'mgiving you a second chance here. To help out everyone involved."

"Not everyone," Steve snapped. He couldn't bear to look back at Bucky as they turned and walked away. "There's another way to do this, Tony. There's always another way."

"Steve Rogers, ever the hopeful!" Tony sang after them as they trudged away. "You know what they say! The star-spangled man with a plan!"

**—**

Tony's words rang in Steve's skull hours after he and Bucky had left the compound. The drive up from Brooklyn had been a lengthy one, but somehow the ride home felt even longer.

"You can't save everybody, Steve," Bucky said. "You know that better than anyone."

Steve tried to pull himself out of his head long enough to form a coherent response, but the best he could muster was an absent mumble of agreement. He tried to loosen up his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel to give his cramped fingers some relief, but he didn't get much.

"Why don't I drive? You can stretch out in the back seat, catch a couple Zs. I'll shake you when I'm ready to trade off or when we get back home."

_Home._

The word made Steve's chest bubble with warmth but it didn't stop him from being angry. A smile fought at the corner of his pink lips but didn't spread into anything more.

He didn't know it was possible to feel such strong, contrasting emotions at the same time. The fact that Bucky had consciously called Brooklyn his— _their_  home—was a bigger step than he probably realized. Still, Steve didn't say anything. He glanced to his right in an attempt to acknowledge his best friend's presence but he couldn't do much more than that.

"Steve."

"I'm fine, Buck," he said. "I just need to think about this for a minute. I'll deal with it... I just don't know how yet."

There was a long pause. The radio was silent and the only sounds were the hum of the engine and the whir of the AC.

Steve had to admit he was tired. His eyes itched and it certainly felt like he could close them, but he wanted to sleep in a bed. With Bucky. He wanted to sleep all of this off and forget it happened and curl up with the love his life tucked under his arm, right there where he could kiss him if he wanted to.

"You can think out loud, you know. You don't have to try to figure this out by yourself. I'm right here."

Steve rolled his eyes and gave a short shake of his head. "There's not a lot going on up here right now. I mostly just want to get home."

Bucky snorted and threw his head back against the seat. "That's bullshit. There's always a million things going through your head."

"Whatever." Steve chuckled and gave Bucky a side-eye, reaching for his metal hand. "I just get wound up too easily. Same old."

"It's not just same old," Bucky said. He gave Steve's hand a squeeze with his metal one. "This whole thing... it's been insane. Tony is—"

"He's not." Steve sighed. "He's not crazy. That's the worst part about all of this. He's not crazy and everyone knows it. This is how it's always been—Tony figures out what works best and we all follow him because he's the genius and we're not."

"Yeah, some genius. He can't even figure out how to keep the people he calls his friends out of prison."

"Buck."

Bucky ran his free hand through his hair and shook his head, a refusal to take it back. Steve couldn't help but laugh, though it was a sad one at that.

"Look, all I'm saying is that if he's the genius, why are  _you_  the one scrambling to figure something out?"

Steve shrugged and shifted in the driver seat. He didn't have the answers that Bucky wanted to hear. He couldn't agree that Tony was completely in the wrong. He couldn't completely side with Bucky and decide that every move Tony made was the wrong one. Steve knew he was guilty of things, too.

"It's just..."

"It's what you do. You take the fall. It tires you out. Look at you! You can hardly hold a god damn conversation because you're too busy trying to figure out Tony's game. This is bullshit. It's all—"

Bucky cut himself off upon realizing how tightly he was gripping Steve's right hand in his metal one and he instantly recoiled as if he'd been burned. Steve's jaw was visibly clenched, but he kept his eyes on the road and tried to be subtle about flexing his fingers to regain blood flow.

"I don't know why—"

"It's okay," Steve said, quietly replacing both hands on the wheel. "It wasn't as bad as you think it was."

"It's not okay. I should... I thought I was getting better about that." Bucky turned in his seat so he was looking at Steve full-on. "Let me drive. You're exhausted."

Steve knew that Bucky wasn't going to give it up. As much as he wished he could ignore him and keep staring straight ahead, he knew it'd do nothing but upset him. Begrudgingly, Steve pulled over and abandoned the driver's seat.

"You can stop pouting any time now," Bucky shouted over the wind, his hair whipping wildly all around his face.

"I'm not pouting," Steve grumbled into the seat. He knew Bucky couldn't hear him, but of course, he still got a reply.

"Relax! We'll be home in no time."

The smile in Bucky's voice was contagious. Steve didn't want to fall asleep, but it didn't take long for the movement of the car to lull him into unconsciousness. He awoke to the gentle shaking of his shoulder and soft kisses pressed to his temple.

"Mm," Steve whined, swatting Bucky away. "You wanted me to sleep and now you're waking me up, what's that about?"

Bucky chuckled quietly, running his cold, metal fingers over Steve's brow. "I'm going to bed. I'll leave the door unlocked."

"Sounds good," Steve said. He turned over on his back and stared at the ceiling of the car, already feeling much better than he had when he fell asleep.

Steve always felt better when he woke up to find that Bucky was okay. It was easier to pretend that things happening with Tony weren't real, easier to forget the nightmares.

He laid in the car for nearly an hour before he finally got a text from Bucky asking if he was ever going to come inside. Tired as he was, the idea of crawling into a warm bed was much more appealing than the sleeping on the leather seat he was currently stuck to.

Sure enough, the front door was left unlocked for him. Steve slid the deadbolt into place when he got inside. He turned slowly to the darkened room and scanned the area, looking for signs of a stealthy best friend waiting in the shadows. Steve figured Bucky would spring out from behind the couch or around a corner to try to scare him. That is, until he made it safely to the bedroom and heard the familiar sound of Bucky's soft snores coming from within.

An overwhelming sense of calm washed over Steve as he stripped off his jeans and climbed into bed beside the snoring heap of warmth in the middle of his king-sized mattress. Bucky didn't stir in the slightest as Steve settled in next to him and carefully laid his head on the brunet's right shoulder.

"I made it," he said softly. "I thought for sure you'd lock me out."

Steve nestled in closer to the heat radiating off from his best friend's sleeping body, a small smile working its way onto his face. Despite the long nap on the drive home to Brooklyn, Steve didn't have any trouble closing his eyes and sliding into unconsciousness nearly immediately.

His sleep was fairly peaceful, undisturbed even by dreams. It wasn't until a chill ran across his body that Steve was tickled awake. He sat up sleepily to pull the covers over him, only to be abruptly halted by something much colder than a draft slamming him back down.

Steve gagged as he hit the mattress, struggling out of his half-asleep haze. His eyes adjusted quickly and for a moment he wished they hadn't.

"Buck—" Steve choked, pressing his palms forcefully into Bucky's shoulders. That didn't get him anywhere. The vise around his windpipe only tightened. Steve grunted and gave Bucky's chest a few feeble, open-palmed blows, but that was futile as well.

Bucky's eyes were bulging out of his head, the irises almost entirely consumed by his dilated pupils. He was muttering in Russian, hot breath washing over Steve's face with every word. From what Steve could tell as the oxygen left his body, Bucky was still asleep, trapped in a night terror as the Winter Soldier.

Steve let out a final, wheezing plea. "Please... Bucky. St-Stop..."

The silhouette of his best friend swam before his eyes as his shaking hands stopped fighting, squirming body fell still and his eyes closed as he was forced back into a peaceful slumber. 


	6. Chapter Six

**THE SHRILL RINGING**  turned to loud static, the sound echoing between Bucky's ears so loudly he crumbled. When he'd gained some coherency, Bucky found himself on the floor, drenched in a sheen of sweat. His eyes adjusted to the dark room that he slowly recognized as Steve's. He was still in Brooklyn. The entire day—the compound, the drive home—it all came back to him.

Bucky remembered drifting off but not much else. As he stood, he recognized Steve's body lying in the middle of bed and he wondered for a brief moment if he'd been pushed onto the floor by his sleeping boyfriend. However, the residual buzzing in Bucky's head told him something entirely different had happened.

With a trembling hand Bucky clicked on the bedside lamp and immediately recoiled at the sight before him.

"No..." He choked on the word as it climbed up his throat. "No, no, no..."

Bucky knelt on the bed, his vision blurred by tears. He pressed a careful pair of fingers to Steve's contorted neck. Bucky heaved a sigh of relief when he felt the shadow of a pulse.

"God damn it."

Bucky stifled a sob, fumbling on the nightstand for his phone. His stomach churned as he struggled to press the right buttons to call Natasha. She answered on the second ring.

_"Look, Barnes, I get that Rogers' snoring does horrible things for your sleep schedule, but this has got to stop. There's nothing I can do, short of—"_

"Natasha..." He practically gagged on his confession; he couldn't stop looking at Steve long enough to form a complete sentence. Usually so full of life and fire, he lay limp and suffocated in his own bed. "I... I don't know... I don't know what happened. I—"

"Don't move." Natasha's voice had changed completely, nearly shook as much as Bucky's hands. "I'm coming. Just... Don't. Go.  _Anywhere_."

Bucky leapt up from the couch before Natasha had even finished unlocking the door. She was startled, her hazel eyes wider than they already were in her panic, when Bucky met her just inside the doorframe.

"He still hasn't..."

"I have people on their way." Her voice was much more even now, determined. She brushed past Bucky with nothing more than a gentle touch on his human hand and headed straight for the bedroom.

Bucky trailed behind her, but stopped short in the doorway. He flinched when she flicked the light on and again when three men he didn't recognize flooded past him and scuttled to Steve's bedside. He watched helplessly as they crowded him, pulled the covers from him, and poked and prodded every inch of Steve's exposed, unconscious body.

"Looks like a partially crushed windpipe..." Bucky winced at the words but he couldn't look away as one of the men held Steve's eyes open and shined a flashlight into them. "Subconjunctival hemorrhage in both eyes. Pupils are responsive."

"What does that mean?" Bucky was stumbling into the room before it even registered that he was moving forward. He barely felt Natasha's hands on his shoulders, pushing him back out the door. "What does that—"

"It means he's going to be okay." She sounded like she was trying to reassure both of them. She pursed her lips and lowered her hands, crossing her arms across her chest. "Broken blood vessels in his eyes but his pupils are still responding to light, which just means he's not dead and his brain is going to be fine. And—"

Bucky shook his head and waved her off. He'd understood the first part just fine.

Natasha's face softened as she reached for him again. "How did this happen?"

Bucky inhaled sharply and turned his head away from her, trying to keep his eyes off Steve and the paramedics.

"I don't..." He swallowed hard, still trying to figure that part out. "I don't know."

"Was it a nightmare?" Natasha whispered so softly that Bucky wondered if she'd said anything at all. But the change in her face—the way she stared right into his eyes—confirmed that she was asking him a question. "Look, I know how hard this is to see, to deal with. You have to believe me when I say that I get it, and it will pass. All of this, living a normal life, it's new. You're still... coping."

"I thought it was getting better," Bucky murmured with another shake of his head. His dark, stringy hair fell around his face, coming loose from the haphazard bun he'd thrown it in before bed.

"It  _is_  getting better. Something like this hasn't happened in months. Give yourself some credit. You've been..."

Bucky had tuned out to whatever Natasha was saying as he watched the men cautiously lift Steve's body from his bed and onto a gurney that he hadn't even noticed before.

"Hey, Barnes, you still with me?" Natasha said. She was pulling him out of the doorway, making room for the medics to come through but he didn't feel the movement. His eyes stayed trained on Steve, who still hadn't opened his eyes. Natasha jerked his arm again. "Bucky."

He snapped to attention, his eyes coming back to Natasha's tousled head of ginger hair. If her eyes were wide and afraid, Bucky could only imagine what he looked like in that moment.

"Can you, um—" His voice broke and he cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders before he tried again. "Do you know if Tony's around?"

**—**

"All I'm saying is that you should think this through for a second," Natasha said. She quickened her pace, trying to keep up with Bucky as he marched down the hall. "There's no telling what he'll say. What he'll  _do_. He's been keeping Vision around for 'backup.' He thinks you and Rogers are going to storm the place in the middle of the night and destroy everything or kill him. Trust me, a paranoid Stark is a dangerous Stark."

None of Natasha's words gave Bucky pause. He pressed the elevator button an obscene and unnecessary number of times, glassy eyes focused in on the silver doors. "If you really wanted to stop me, you wouldn't have told me he was here." He rolled his neck as the elevator  _dinged_  and he stepped in. With one expectant brow raised, he held the door open for Natasha. "Coming?"

Natasha hovered in the hall, looking back and forth as if she expected Tony jump out at them right then. She wrung her hands together for a moment before finally letting out a long groan. Bucky fell away from the door as she shouldered past him and hit the button for the ground floor just a little too hard.

"You sound exactly like him, you know that?" Natasha grumbled as she fell back against the wall of the elevator, her arms folded tightly.

"And what exactly does he sound like?"

"The most stubborn person I've ever met in my goddamn life."

 

**—  
**

 

_"Buck, stop! You're gonna kill someone."_

_"I'm not gonna kill—"_

_"I'm not sure if I'm worth all this, Steve."_

_"You're Steve. I read about you in a museum."_

The memories washed over each other behind Steve's eyelids, one running over top of the other. They flooded over him and filled his lungs until he was gasping and desperate for breath. His eyes snapped open but immediately screwed back shut, his pupils shrinking away from the bright morning light flooding through the window.

Steve let out a long groan and reached up to press his palms into his eyes, the motion immediately stopped by a pull on the top of his right hand.

Squinting, Steve tried to investigate only to find his vision too blurry to make out much of anything. He thought it would pass as he woke up more, but that didn't seem to be the case.

He flexed his hand a few times, realization washing over him as he recognized the tight pulling sensation of a needle under his skin.

 _An IV._ There was an IV in his hand and it hurt. Everything hurt. He pulled in a long breath, attempting to shake the dizziness.

Wherever he was, it wasn't home. The mattress was flat and uncomfortable. He was surrounded by starchy sheets and pillows that felt like they were stuffed with cardboard. It was white, the entire room, from what he could see. Blinding. Sterile.

"Morning, sunshine."

Steve jumped, his stinging eyes searching for a face to match the voice. His vision was still coming back to him, but he didn't need 20/20 to recognize the fiery head of hair lingering at the door. He opened his parched lips to greet her.

"No," Nat cooed. She crossed the room slowly, approached him as if he were a scared child. Steve cracked a smile at the familiar aroma of coffee. "Don't try to talk. It's gonna be a little bit, even with your super-healing."

"What—" Steve croaked, shocked by his own voice. "Hap... happened?"

Steve rolled his stiff neck but that only made the pain worse. The metal feet of Natasha's chair scraping across the linoleum left his ears ringing and his jaw aching.

_God, what had happened to him?_

"Here," Natasha said. She placed the Styrofoam cup carefully between Steve's hands. He'd never seen her be so delicate and cautious. "I wanted to bring you coffee, but all I can give you is honey and warm water with a little lemon." Steve could make out the soft little smirk on her plump, pink lips. "Doctor's orders."

"What..." Steve tried again, desperate for answers. The single word made his throat go up in flames. "Nat. Tell me—"

"How're your eyes?" Evading. She wouldn't look at him, fiddled with her coffee cup and then a small box at the edge of his bed to avoid eye contact. "They said your vision should get better soon. You still look like a horror movie, though."

Steve's brows pulled together in a deep furrow. He tried to swallow, but it felt like a rock going down his windpipe.

" _Nat_."

The fiery-haired woman let out a deep sigh. She shook her head slowly and kept her eyes down, her tongue pressed against her cheek.

"You know," Natasha said, "Tony was always the most stubborn person I'd ever met. Then you came into the picture, and I have to say..."

She paused for a short laugh that Steve struggled to return. Natasha's eyes fell to her lap and she fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. When she spoke, her voice was much more solemn.

"Don't try to talk, just listen. Everything is fine. That IV is just fluids." Steve could tell by her long pause that she knew he didn't buy it. "The one in your left arm is a painkiller. You kept ripping it out. They had to sedate you."

Steve's cracked lips were forming the word "why" when Natasha opted to elaborate for him.

"I just need you to trust me for a little bit here, Rogers." Steve rarely heard Natasha's gravelly voice so shaken. Maybe once before, while she was recounting traumatic memories of brutal KGB missions or her run-ins with the Winter Soldier. "You had a bad night but you're fine now. It's all going to be fine, but you've gotta stay on bed rest. You've gotta take what they give you, keep these needles in you. I know it doesn't feel right, but I promise it's for your own good."

"Bucky," Steve choked out, his hand searching for Natasha's. She didn't intertwine their fingers, only laid her hand on top of his. "Bucky, he—"

"Shh. It's okay."

Steve flinched away from her touch when he realized her free hand was adjusting the box beside his bed again. His head swam as he swatted at her weakly, pathetically, and without any success. The warmth of the Styrofoam disappeared from his limp fingers and he slipped into the darkness.

   **—**

 "Wakey, wakey, Captain... Damn. Not sure where I was going with that one."

Steve didn't come to slowly this time. His eyes snapped open and burned in the fluorescent lights. Tony's voice made Steve swing wildly, but he connected with nothing. Clammy palms landed on his forearms, bringing his hands back down to his lap.

"Shh. It's just us, it's all right. You're fine. You're okay. Take a breath."

" ... drugged me!" Steve wheezed, his eyes widening as he pulled his hands out from under Natasha's. His throat still felt like he'd swallowed a dozen razor blades. He regretted trying to raise his voice.

"Wow, I'm excited to see you too, Cap," Tony remarked as he stepped closer to the bed. "You look like hell."  
Steve only made a short noise of protest. He wouldn't waste his limited voice on Tony.

"Aw, he's shy today."

"Tony, stop," Natasha barked. "You're here to see how he's doing. If that's not the case, get out."

Steve watched them stand off. Tony looked at Nat over the rims of his red-tinted sunglasses for a prolonged moment. Finally, he relaxed, dropped his shoulders, and unbuttoned his suit jacket.

"I did come to see how he's doing," Tony said. "He's alive. Nightmarish, definitely, but living nonetheless."

Natasha shot him a glare that could have cut diamonds.

"Get out," Steve whispered. He wished he had it in him to spring up from the bed and take Tony out right there. They were in the right place for a medical emergency. When Tony didn't move, Steve shifted as much as he could to try to assert his request. " _Now._ "

Tony was eerily silent for a moment, staring Steve down before looking back to Natasha. Steve was sure he had missed something, but moments later, Tony cleared the room.

"I'm sorry," Natasha said. "He seemed genuine earlier. He said he was worried about you."

" ... still haven't told me—"

"I want you to be in the right place. Right now, you're all doped up, underfed, confused. When the time comes—"

"Nat," Steve pleaded. "Please."

"Steve..." Her loose curls bounced back and forth as she gave her head a short shake. "It shouldn't come from me. He should be the there to talk you through it."

_Bucky._

"Where—"

"Safe. That's what matters right now." Natasha stared at him long and hard, the green in her hazel eyes accentuated by the tears brimming in them. "You're both safe and that's what matters."

He wanted to press her more, gather some kind of inkling as to what the hell was going on, but he could see she wouldn't give him anything. Natasha was exhausted which was something Steve wasn't used to being able to read so well on her. Usually it showed as a twisted ankle or a pulled muscle, a limp or wince that she couldn't quite mask.

But sitting so close, even with his vision not all-there, Steve could see something else. She wasn't tired from a strenuous mission or lack of sleep. Something had wrung her out and Steve guessed it had everything to do with Tony.

"Now," Nat said quietly, though it still made Steve jump. "I'm gonna press some buttons over here and you're going to go back to sleep. I'm not drugging you, I'm trying to save you some pain and worry."

Steve's lips parted in protest, but before anything came up from his damaged vocal cords, the room was dimming again. Natasha's sunken face disappeared out of his line of sight like an old movie fading to black, and again, he was enveloped in sleep.

**—**

Two days passed before Steve came into contact with anyone other than Natasha and his doctors and nurses. Natasha continued to treat him like porcelain and he could only bring himself to appreciate it half the time. He wanted the truth. Most of all, though, he wanted Bucky. But Nat was a broken record, repeating that they were both safe and that's what mattered, that she couldn't say anything because it wasn't the right time.

It took a lot of convincing and complaining, but Steve eventually got Natasha to help him out of bed. His entire body felt stiff and atrophied as his feet hit the cold linoleum. The nurses had told him they'd been bringing him to the bathroom while he was half-sedated, but Steve didn't have any memory of that. It was a relief to be able to stand on his own and pee without Natasha's motherly eyes watching him.

As Steve moved to leave the bathroom, he caught his reflection in the mirror. The sight made him jump. He reached forward and touched the glass, almost positive it had to be a prank.

"You okay in there?"

"It's fine," Steve said, distant. His voice was still hoarse from whatever damage had been done. He stared at himself, horrified by his bloodshot eyes.

But it was more than bloodshot; it looked to him like every blood vessel in each eye had burst, leaving very little white left around his blue irises. Even more ghastly was the bruising around his throat. A distinct handprint was still settling into multi-colored pools under his skin.

Steve sucked in a shaky breath, his eyes welling up as the recollection came to him all at once. He placed a trembling hand over the bruises, his fingers fitting almost perfectly into distorted black and blue outline of Bucky's hand.

"It wasn't him," Steve said, his bottom lip quivering. "It's not his fault."

"Hey," Nat whispered. She stepped quietly into the space that suddenly felt suffocating.

"Where is he?" His hand was still resting on his neck as he looked at Natasha in the mirror. "Tony took him somewhere. That's why you won't—"

"That's not true," she said softly. "It's... complicated. I've told you, now isn't the right time, the right place. It's better if—"

"I disagree," someone said from the next room.

Steve and Nat glanced at each other the mirror before stepping back out of the bathroom. Steve brushed past Natasha and met Bucky's eyes as the long-haired man passed through the doorway of the hospital room. Steve's eyes ran over the familiar frame of his best friend's body.

Something was distinctly  _wrong_  and it wasn't until Steve's burning eyes landed on the limp sleeve of Bucky's jacket that he realized with sparkling clarity what it was.

Steve stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance as his head began to spin. "Wh-What did you..." Stomach churning, he struggled to meet Bucky's eyes. "You didn't—"

"Yes, I did," Bucky said. "I had to,"

"Buck..." Steve took a careful step forward. "Why?"

Shaking his head, Steve reached for Bucky's right hand only to have him flinch away as if Steve had held an open flame to his skin.

"Don't." Bucky turned away. "Don't... touch me."

"Listen to me," Steve said, the knot in his throat distorting his voice. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and tried to hold his composure. "I will figure this out. I swear to God. I will—"

"Steve..." Bucky chuckled spitefully. "Don't you get it? There's nothing else to figure out."

"Tony takes this away from you again and suddenly everything's solved?" Steve jerked his head from side to side. "No. I won't—"

"I did this." Bucky turned his watery eyes back to Steve, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I asked him to do this for me."

"What?" Steve's face contorted in disgust. His head was spinning. "Don't you... Did you forget why we got you a new arm to  _begin_ with?" Steve gestured wildly, his eyes prickling up again from the pain in his throat. "You were miserable, defenseless—"

"It's not worth it." He didn't waver at Steve's outburst. He slipped his hand into the pocket of the jacket and his eyes fell to the floor. "Not worth the trouble it causes."

"It is to me." Steve sniffed and looked back to Natasha, who still hid in the doorway, and then back to Bucky. "It's worth it to me."

Buck gave his head a short shake. "Look at yourself," he said, his voice on the verge of breaking. "Look at yourself and tell me this doesn't  _terrify_ you."

Steve spread his arms wide and let out a spiteful laugh. "I'm not afraid of you. I'm not afraid of the Winter Soldier. I'm not afraid of doing whatever the hell it takes to make sure you can have a shot at a normal life!"

"There is no  _normal_ , Steve!" Bucky turned back around so quickly it made Steve's head spin. "Not for me, not anymore! I can't have a normal life!"

"Buck—"

"Just..." Bucky struggled with the words, eyes screwed tightly shut. "Stop. Please, stop this."

He paused and flicked his eyes over the nurses who had flooded in the room. Four of them, wide-eyed and panicked, ready to jump into action even though they were apparently unsure of what exactly it was they planned to do. "I'll always carry this. I'll always have this... monster in the back of my head, Steve. A monster that's after  _you_."

"Bucky..." Steve pleaded, stepping forward desperately. He was met with nothing but a prolonged moment of eye contact before Bucky slipped out of the room. Steve turned back to Natasha, frantic. "Where is he going?"

"Home, I'm sure." Natasha wrapped her arms around herself as if a cold draft had swept through the room with Bucky's exit. "He wanted to visit while you were sleeping. Avoid... that. Probably just needs a minute to sort through... everything."

Steve shook his head, eyes settling on the tiled floor. "I can't believe Tony—"

"Tony didn't do this," Natasha said. She looked at him sternly. "You heard him, Steve. This was his choice."

"Yeah..." Steve blew out a long breath through his nose. He rubbed the back of his neck and started to pace. "When can I get out of here? They can't just keep sedating me."

Natasha stared blankly at Steve for a long moment. She looked like she wanted to say something. Maybe tell him that he didn't understand the situation at all. Steve ignored it and waited for an answer.

"Look," she finally said. "Things has gotten a little bit more complicated. They're trying to figure out what to do with Barnes, how to handle—"

"Tony," Steve said. "You mean Tony is trying to figure out how to get him back to Wakanda or thrown into the Raft."

"Steve, it's bigger—"

"Bigger than Tony?" Steve scoffed and threw up his hands. "Well, jeez, Nat. I just didn't think that was possible."

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and cocked an eyebrow. It was obvious that she was exhausted. Steve sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Sorry. I'm sorry."

"It's more complicated than Tony. It's more complicated than just letting you guys go back home and turning a blind eye. We've put it off as long as we could. The Accords are law. By law, you two are fugitives. We can't just pretend we don't know what's going on with you anymore." Natasha shifted her weight and met Steve's eyes. "Everyone knows that we know about you. They're putting pressure on Tony."

"Yeah, poor Tony." Steve fought off an eyeroll and winced in apology when he saw that Natasha wasn't having it with the sarcasm. "I get it. I understand. I just need a little more time, Nat. I appreciate all of this so much but I—"

"I don't think you  _do_  get it, Steve, that's the thing." Natasha sucked in a sharp breath and moved over toward the hospital bed. She sat on the edge and rested her head in her hands. "This is it. If we can't get you guys to cooperate, other people who don't care about you are  _going_  to step in."

Steve stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, searching for something to say. All he wanted to do was beg for more time. He was desperate to talk to Bucky. More than that, he was desperate to get away from all the trouble, to just live out some kind of normal life.

"You heard him, Rogers." Natasha added quietly, as if she'd been reading his mind. "There is no normal. For either of you"

Steve clenched his teeth, chin falling to his chest. Natasha stood silently from the bed and when he lifted his head, she was gone.

**—**

Steve slipped in the door as quietly as he could manage. He'd been half-surprised to find it unlocked. The other half had expected exactly what he'd walked into. Bucky sitting quietly on the couch, a cup of coffee clutched loosely in his hand. Steve gulped down the anxiety crawling up his throat. The simple action still hurt.

"She already knows you left." Bucky's voice caught Steve off guard. He'd been trying and failing to prepare himself for being the one to initiate conversation. Now he was even less prepared. Steve's eyes fell to the floor as soon as Bucky turned to face him. "Why the hell do you do this?"

Steve's already clenched jaw tightened, a fire spreading from the pit of stomach up to the tips of his ears. "Oh, sorry, I'll be sure to stand by idly the next time someone cuts your arm off. That seems to the overarching problem here."

"That's not what I meant," Bucky said. His voice was dry, tired. But he wasn't sad and exhausted anymore. He was angry. Steve could feel it radiating off him. "You know that's not what I meant."

Bucky stood in an unbalanced clatter and made his way into the kitchen.

Steve stayed frozen in his place, his chest tightening with each passing moment. "I don't know what you want me to do," he finally said.

He didn't look up from the beige carpet, his eyes studying the weaving until Bucky's gray socks came into his line of sight. He still couldn't lift his head to meet Bucky's eyes, he could only look past him. Even seeing the shadow of his best friend in his peripheral was still too much.

"I want you to do the right thing, Steve. Not just the right thing for me or us. For everybody. I want you to let me help you figure out how to do that."

Steve shook his head, his lips falling into a pout. "I'll handle it. I am—I'm handling it. It's hard, but it's—"

"It's  _impossible_! Don't you realize that what you're doing is impossible?" A dry laugh fell from Bucky's lips. His breath was weighed down with the smell of coffee as it washed over Steve's face. "Steve, he's making you choose. You can't have it all. You can't save everyone."

"Stop," Steve spat. He brushed past Bucky, making a beeline for the bedroom. He wanted to sleep this off in his own bed.

"Stop what? Stop trying to knock some sense into you? I thought that was my god damn job. You know, as your best friend and all."

"Stop shoving my words back in my face!" Steve spun on his heel and threw his hands in the air. A strangled half-laugh, half-sob fell from his lips. "I get it, all right? I get that you think I'm not going about this the right way, but I need you to drop it for three seconds so I can fucking think."

He didn't wait for Bucky's reply, only stomped down the hall to the bedroom. The slam of the door shook the walls of the small Brooklyn apartment and left piercing silence in its wake.

Steve's head was still swimming two hours after he'd laid down. Bucky had gone silent in the living room and Steve wondered if he'd left. He wouldn't blame him. Just as the thought crossed his mind, the bedroom door creaked open and the dim light from the hallway splashed across the floor. Steve screwed his eyes shut and nestled deeper into the pillow.

Bucky crawled in beside him. The covers hardly made a sound as he pulled them over himself and rolled to face away from Steve. If Steve hadn't been lying awake for the past two hours, he'd think it was a dream.

"You don't have to pretend to be asleep, you know." Steve jumped at Bucky's voice, his cheeks burning as a soft laugh vibrated the mattress. "You've always been a terrible faker."

Silence fell between them again. Steve turned his head to find Bucky already looking at him.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow," Steve said. "I promise. I'll finish all of this in the morning." Bucky sighed, throwing his head back against the pillow. Steve went on, unfazed. "You're right. I need to figure out what the right thing is for everybody. I'll go see Tony tomorrow and we'll figure something out. You're not going anywhere."

"Do you want to... I don't know, run any of this by me before you disappear to kick his ass?"

Steve scoffed and turned back over. "I'm not going to kick his ass. That won't change anything."

"Steve."

"Goodnight, Buck. I'll see you in the morning." 


	7. Chapter Seven

**STEVE AWOKE TO** an empty bed and a dark room. He sat up, slowly orienting himself to the familiarity of his own bedroom. He'd gotten a little too used to a hospital room over the course of the last week. Nevertheless, he fell into routine and stumbled through a shower and breakfast, the entire time weighed down by the same thought running through his head like a movie reel:  _Time, time, time, time, time. You need to get to Tony. You're running out of time. Don't run out of time._

He wasn't sure what provoked his sudden state of anxiety, but he was ready for it to be over. Bucky's absence didn't surprise or really even worry him until he was halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge.

The pre-coffee daze from the early morning had lifted from his mind and Steve's mild anxiety had turned to pangs of unadulterated dread. He pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator, his rickety VW lurching forward with the effort.

Steve leaped out of the car almost before he'd finished parking it around the back of the Tower. He stomped purposefully up the stairs. His chest was so tight he could hardly breathe, the worst of assumptions continuing to spiral in his mind. Steve reeled back from the door as Vision materialized through the glass pane.

"Captain Rogers. Good morning." The magenta-faced android was as stoic as ever, his voice calm and somewhat welcoming as he nodded his greeting. "Is there something I can help you with? Your arrival was unexpected and, I must say, quite...  _overt._ "

Steve narrowed his eyes, heat burning up the back of his neck.

He hadn't stopped once to consider being followed, worry about who saw him, or consider how dramatic his entrance might have been. Screeching tires on the blacktop, burning rubber, slamming doors. He hadn't been nearly as careful as he'd promised himself and the others he would be.

"Is Stark here or not?" Steve finally spat out. His entire body was ablaze, his clenched fists trembling at his sides. "I need to see him."

"Mr. Stark is in the middle of—"

"Great, tell him I'll be right up."

Steve brushed past Vision and silently prayed that the very presence of his fingerprints on the door handle wouldn't set off an alarm that would send every law enforcement agency after him.

Much to his contentment, Steve safely and covertly made it to the elevator. When the doors opened into the penthouse, he was met by Vision and Tony, both of them waiting ever so patiently.

"Top of the morning to you, too, Cap. You look... actually, terrible, still. Can I get you a drink? Water, cup of Joe, bourbon?" Steve took three careful steps out of the elevator grimaced in the company of Tony's smugness. "Why don't you give the grownups a minute alone?"

To Steve's surprise, Tony's loyal watchdog nodded respectfully and disappeared into the floor beneath them.

"So! " Tony turned his back and sauntered to the bar. Steve didn't follow with anything more than his eyes as Tony poured himself a drink. "Did you finally change your mind? Are you going to cooperate instead of being a fugitive? I know that's kind of your thing now, but—"

"His arm wasn't part of the deal."

Tony nearly choked on his drink as a laugh climbed up this throat. He swallowed pointedly and raised a hand, still laughing.

"Maybe not  _our_  deal, if you could even call it that. Barnes came here of his own will and very clear-headed. That in itself was pretty weird, all things considered." When Steve offered no response, Tony sipped the caramel liquid from his tumbler and winced as it went down. "He asked me a favor. I graciously delivered, being the man of charity that I am."

Steve clenched his teeth and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "What did you get out of it?"

"Oh, you mean other than this brilliant entertainment? Nothing at first. I just knew it'd get your attention."

Steve opened his mouth to shoot something back, but his throat dried up as Tony's words registered.

"What are you talking about? Nothing at first, what does that mean?" Steve's voice shook more than he'd expected it to. His eyes were burning with fresh tears but he wouldn't break in front of Tony. Not now. "What the hell are you talking about?" Tony didn't flinch as Steve crossed the room, his temper coming to a furious, rolling boil.

Tony waved his tumbler across the space between them and chuckled.

"I figured you two had come to an agreement... but apparently not?" The smug smirk on Tony's face made every one of Steve's muscles tense with the effort of not lunging forward.

Tony stood there and stared, entertained, waiting for the realization to dawn on Steve.

"Oh, my god." He snorted, then covered his mouth in mock embarrassment. "Oh, my god... You really have no idea."

Steve took another step toward Tony, close enough that he could smell the heavy alcohol on the shorter man's breath. His teeth were grinding together so hard it made his head pound. He hadn't wanted this confrontation to turn violent, but it was becoming abundantly clear that was exactly what Tony had wanted.

"He beat you here, pal." Tony's voice dripped with malice and condescension, the smirk on his face turning into a grin and eventually, a hearty laugh. "Barnes was here before the sun came up. Practically begged me to get him on a jet back to Wakanda. I wasn't about to refuse considering that's where you  _stole_ him from. He told me you knew and that you two had had some rousing discussion about 'the right thing to do'."

Steve's lips moved absently but there wasn't a single sound that his dried-up tongue could make. His vision swam for a moment and he swayed on his feet, stomach plummeting to the soles of his sneakers. The knot in his throat quickly turned to nausea. He felt as if he'd collapse at any moment and melt into the floor on impact.

"Y-You're..." Steve struggled, blinking too fast for his own good, trying to form a clear thought.

After a moment of watching Tony's distorted face spin in kaleidoscope circles, Steve snapped back to attention.

Before he could think about the movement, his hands were at Tony's throat. He thrust him with all the strength he could gather against the bar. An animalistic growl resonated in Steve's chest. His vision was blurring again, this time with tears that he couldn't stop from welling up. Tony's expression had quickly turned from complacent to petrified.

"You're lying. You're full of shit." Steve lifted a fist behind his head, ready to bear down on Tony's nose as many times as it took to make his words untrue. "Stop ly—"

Steve let out a strangled cry as pain shot from his hand, up into his shoulder and down his spine. His knees wobbled as he strained to turn his head enough to see Vision towering over him, one mechanical hand crushing his fist.

"Captain Rogers, I'm afraid it's time for you to go. If you don't cooperate, Mr. Stark will be forced to contact the authorities."

For once, Steve didn't see another way out. He didn't see any reason to retaliate or attempt overpower Vision. Reluctantly, his hand dropped away from Tony, who did his best to appear unfazed and unafraid.

Vision escorted Steve all the way out to his car. He hung his head the entire way, embarrassed by his lack of self-control. He wished that his walk of shame had ended at Stark Tower, but the feeling persisted until he had reached the doorway of his apartment. Inside, he was met with a fiery head of hair and loving, hazel-green eyes.

Steve couldn't hold it together a moment long enough to retreat to his room. Natasha was standing there in his living room with open arms and it was all Steve could do to collapse against her chest and let go.

"You've made it through this before. Things can be easier now. Arrangements can be made. This is the hardest part."

Steve sniffed and nestled his head deeper into the pillow, feigning a smile.

"I'm sorry you have to, um..." Steve scoffed, gesturing to himself. "Witness this... wonderful mess."

"It's not so bad," Natasha cooed, running a hand over Steve's forehead and through his sweaty hair. The water works had finally slowed, but he definitely still looked a mess. "I've seen worse."

Steve snorted and rolled out of Natasha's touch, palming his eyes sockets. "It's stupid. All of this is. I don't know why I'm so worked up—"

"Steve." Natasha's voice was so soft. It surprised him. They'd been lying together, for an hour and he still hadn't gotten used to this nurturing side of her. "You carry a lot of weight around on those big, broad, super shoulders of yours."

Steve rolled his eyes, playing coy. He turned back to her and laid on his side, crossing his arms awkwardly across his chest.

"You've been carrying the weight of loving someone you can't have for literally a century. Everything you're feeling is normal. If you weren't upset about this, I'd be worried."

Steve's warm smile wavered and broke as a silent sob rattled his body. Natasha shushed him and pulled the massive man into her chest, running a soothing hand over the back of his neck.

"I don't understand." Steve pulled in a shaky breath, wrapping his arms loosely around Natasha's torso. "I don't... We could've said goodbye. He didn't have to do this alone and —"

"But he did." Natasha shook off her own tears and laid her cool hand on Steve's fevered cheek. "He did have to do this alone. You never would've gone through with it. You'd never let him go back there without a fight."

"If that's what he wanted, I would've—"

"No one  _wants_  this, Steve."

Steve sniffed and tightened his grip around Natasha. He pulled her closer and rested his forehead on her shoulder.

She was right. No one wanted this to be so hard. No one had wanted things to get so ugly, to have everyone fighting the people they loved most.

No one but Zemo.

"I have to go."

Steve's words came out muffled before he unwound himself from Natasha and rolled to the edge of the bed. The sudden change made him dizzy as he stood, but he kept moving forward. Natasha cut him off at his dresser as he rummaged around for a clean shirt.

"What are you doing?" Natasha's brows pulled together in a deep furrow when Steve ignored her and continued to paw through his clean laundry. "What the hell are you talking about, Rogers? Where do you think you need to go?"

"I don't  _think_  anything," Steve huffed as he tossed the shirt he was wearing moments ago onto the floor. "I need to go. Right now. It's fine, I'll be fine."

He tried to turn away but was immediately caught by Natasha's fingernails digging into his bicep.

"Care to let me in on this master plan of yours?"

Steve didn't turned back to her. "No, actually, not really."

Natasha scoffed and moved so she was standing between him and the door, arms crossed and jaw set.

"Just let me go. I'll be back before sundown." Steve wasn't even convinced by his own words and he didn't expect Natasha to buy them, either. "Please, Nat."

She didn't back down. Steve didn't have the energy to put up a decent façade. His shoulders slumped and immediately, Natasha's arms fell away from her chest.

"What the hell are you doing?" The question was less pointed this time, and much more concerned.

"Zemo. He's... he's the reason this all happened, right? If I could just—"

"Just  _what_? Break into a government facility and kill him? Then what? You feel better  _and_  you're a murderer on top of being a fugitive." Natasha shook her head and took a step closer to Steve, her eyes soft. "What is this, really?"

Steve cast his eyes aside, his chest weighed down with embarrassment. He didn't know how to answer her questions. All he knew was that if he could get to Zemo, the root of this problem—

"Steve." Natasha placed cautious hands on each of his arms, pleading with him. "Come on, what is it?"

He shook his head, brow furrowed. "I don't know. I've just... spent all this time pissed off at Tony. And I guess..."

"Realized he's not the reason things are like this?" Natasha offered a warm smile, one eyebrow raised. Steve rolled his eyes and finally met her gaze, the shadow of a smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. "You can't fix that by kidnapping a terrorist and punching his teeth in."

"A terrorist, huh?"

"Sorry, did you miss the part of his evil plan to break up the Avengers where he set off an EMP and woke the sleeper assassin? Or was that just me that saw that? Because I swear, you were there, too." Natasha chuckled and ran her thumb over Steve's arm, her jovial smile fading into a more sympathetic one. "We're gonna figure this all out. For now, let's worry about taking care of you. Then we'll move on to Barnes and the rest of the world. How about that for a master plan?"

**—**

When Natasha had woken up from her second nap, she found herself alone in Steve's king-sized bed. An empty pizza box was still resting at her feet, the TV across the room still tuned onto the same reality channel she'd insisted on. Steve had been the first one to fall asleep. Nat drifted in and out, afraid that if she let herself completely lose consciousness, Steve would do something that required immediate impulse control.

Of course, she had trusted him and his lawn-mower snoring just a bit too much. The room was empty and the bed beside her was cold. Wherever he had gone, it wasn't just to the bathroom. Despite her panic, she didn't rush getting up. Natasha was sure that Steve would be careless enough to get himself caught and that he was now awaiting her rescue in a prison cell.

She was surprised when she checked her phone and saw no missed calls or messages from anyone but Clint, who had been blowing up her phone since Tony had taken him and the others away. She was dodging him until she could give him straight answers.

Natasha surveyed the room in hopes of some obvious indication of where Steve had run off to. In the flashing light of the television, she could make out an open drawer of his nightstand.

She crossed the room to investigate only to find it barren. Natasha let out a long sigh and ran a hand through her tangled hair. She made her trek toward the bedroom door, positive that it was going to be a long night either being interrogated or searching for her runaway friend.

Natasha's chilled fingers paused on the doorknob mid-twist. Her eye darted back and forth across the wood as she listened. She jumped at the clattering sound that echoed down the hallway. Her immediate instinct was to wrench the door open and sprint at the intruder full speed. Natasha reevaluated upon the realization that she was painfully, pathetically unarmed.

As stealthily as she could manage, Natasha pulled open Steve's creaky bedroom door and took a few silent steps into the middle of the hallway. She sent out a silent prayer of thanks for his carpeted floors. Had they been hardwood, her bare feet would give her away immediately as she edged toward the living room.

"God damn it..."

Natasha immediately turned her back to where she has originally thought the noise had come from. The spare bedroom down the hall cast a warm glow into the hallway through the cracked door. Labored, heaving breaths were audible as Natasha crept closer. Her panic came to a peak as she pushed the door open, expecting to find some gruesome scene her.

Instead, she found a tragic one. Steve was sitting with his back against an overturned dresser and his legs splayed out in front of him. His head hung low, his chin pressed into his chest. Natasha made a careful entrance into the room, her eyes running over the mess of her friend.

Steve's trembling fingers turned a dog tag necklace over and over in his palms, eyes fixated on them so intently that Natasha didn't think he'd even noticed her come in. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Steve's fingers fell still and the necklace jangled as it fell to the floor.

"I didn't mean to wake you up." Steve's voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable. Natasha considered pinching herself, but even if she was in some twisted dream, that never worked. "I couldn't sleep."

"Yeah, I—" Natasha cleared her throat and tried to shake off the after-effects of the high-alert-assassin panic she had just come down from. "I see that now. I thought something..." She pursed her lips and pushed her hair away from her face, electing to ignore how shaken she was. "I'm glad you're okay."

Steve's eyes fell back to the dog tags between his legs. Natasha took the opportunity to quickly scan the room.

One capsized dresser, a broken lamp, a Captain-America's-fist-sized hole in the wall, two pairs of dog tags. She nodded to herself, silently astounded by the fact that none of this commotion had startled her awake at any point in Steve's apparent tantrum. Natasha cleared her throat again as her eyes came back to Steve and the dog tags.

"I'm pretty sure those fossils belong to the Smithsonian on mannequins." Natasha cringed at her own attempt at humor, but Steve seemed relatively unfazed.

"I didn't steal them." His voice was so ragged, almost as bad as the first time she had heard him try to speak back at the hospital. "The ones at the museum are ah, um..." Steve seemed to lose his train of thought. "Replicas."

"Hey, listen." Natasha finally said. She crouched down in front of Steve, chewing nervously on her top lip. She watched him turn over the tags in his hands, running his thumbs over the letters and numbers each time. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No. I mean, I—I'm okay." Steve sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his cheek. "I just kind of lost it. I couldn't sleep and I just started thinking in circles. I came in here to look through some old stuff and it just... It just made everything worse."

It wasn't until that moment that Natasha noticed the blood on Steve's knuckles. She let out a short breath and lowered herself to her knees.

"Why don't I help you clean that up?"

Steve huffed and waved her off. "It's nothing. Looks a lot worse than it is. I'll be fine in the morning."

Natasha had to bite her tongue to stop more desperate, concerned words from falling out of her mouth. Seeing Steve like this absolutely broke her heart and she had no idea what to do to help him. She thought the day had been good, full of pizza and laughing at reality television.

Occasional crying, yes, but she thought even that had served a good purpose. Now it didn't seem that way at all.

"We can talk to Tony tomorrow, see what we can do and how soon." Natasha stared hopelessly at the top of Steve's head. "I think you just need to get out of this head space, you know? I'll make some coffee if you want and we can—"

"I want to sign." Steve's voice was much more even now. His irritated eyes had lifted to meet Natasha's. "The Accords. I want to sign The Sokovia Accords.

She let out something like a laugh, mostly out of shock. "Look, Steve—"

"That's the only way Tony is ever going to leave us alone. It's the only way he'll ever help me with anything. It's the only way everyone can be safe. We don't have to hide anymore, we don't have to look for undercover work and risk anything." He pulled in a deep breath and pressed his tongue into his cheek. "And, yeah, it sucks. It's really... not where I wanted to end up. But we can't do this anymore. It's not fair." He ran his thumb over the pair of dog tags Natasha believed had to be Bucky's. "It's not fair to anyone."

"Steve..." Natasha leaned forward and took his injured hand. "You don't... I mean, I'm sure there's—"

"Nat." Steve chuckled softly and gave her hand a squeeze. He offered her a knowing smile. "You were already going to convince me to do this. It's what needs to be done. Help me or don't, I'm signing the Accords."

 **—**   

"Gotta say, Cap, I'm impressed." Steve kept his jaw clenched and tongue quiet. He couldn't screw this up with retaliation. He wouldn't let Tony push him to that point. For the first time in his life, Steve Rogers felt like he had given up. "Even more impressed that you and Romanoff managed to get everyone else on board. Tell me, was that Wanda's work or was it your own personal brand of manipulation?"

The corner of Steve's mouth twitched, every fiber in him wanting to fling sharp rebuttals across the elevator at Tony. Natasha took his hand and squeezed, giving him a reassuring nod for good measure.

"Tony, play nice."

Her smile was flat and annoyed but Tony took it as some kind of reinforcement for his harassment.

"Now, was this because you had a change of heart or because you—"

"What does it matter?" Steve kept his eyes forward. He knew if he met Tony's smug stare, he wouldn't be able to stop the malevolence from pouring out of his mouth. He took a deep breath and leveled his temper. "I'm settling the issue we've been fighting over for too long now."

"I wouldn't say the Accords were really the central conflict in our love story, but maybe you remember Siberia differently than I do."

" _Tony_." Natasha chastised him, only earning her an over-dramatic eye roll. "It's done. He signed. Your turn to help us now."

As if on queue, the elevator door opened. Steve was the first one out, more than ready to get onto the next part of their agreement.

The plane ride was silent. Natasha slept and Tony continued to do nerve-grating things in an attempt to make Steve snap. All Steve could do was put on of headphones, lean his head back, and close his eyes. Every once and awhile, when he could hear Tony tapping his foot or a pen against a piece of metal, Steve reached into his pocket and clutched the dog tags tightly.

Snapping at Tony would admittedly make him feel better for a moment, but he wouldn't let himself forget what was on the other end of this nine-hour journey. Fighting with Tony wasn't worth it. Steve couldn't hold on any longer without Bucky by his side and he needed a resolution, a happy ending, something to live for.

If he couldn't be Captain America and he couldn't stand up for everything he believed in without having to run from the law, he had to have Bucky safe by his side.

That's how it had always been. That's all he knew. When there was nothing else, there was always Bucky. The only constant in his life.

"Hey. Steve."

Steve jumped at the hand on his shoulder, squinting into the light and struggling to make out Natasha's face.

"S-Sorry. Did I fall asleep?" He glanced around the empty plane and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with one hand while the other tugged the earbuds from his ears. "I didn't even realize."

"We're landed. Tony beat us inside." Natasha smiled softly and provided a hand.

Steve took it graciously and pulled himself out of the seat. He rolled his stiff neck and shook feeling into his legs. It wasn't until they were entering the bright, sterile building that his anxiety returned to him all at once. His stomach churned so hard and so aggressively that he felt sick and certainly regretted not eating anything.

Steve offered a warm smile to T'Challa as he met them in the hall, dressed from head to toe in all-black formal wear. Steve felt underdressed but immediately remembered that he was here for Bucky, not T'Challa or anyone else.

"Your Highness."

"Captain."


	8. Chapter Eight

**"SERGEANT BARNES**  is being prepped as we speak."

Steve's heart panged with something a bit more solemn than excitement or nervousness.

"Bucky," he said. Natasha and T'Challa both turned to look at Steve, surprised but not particularly offended. Steve's tongue dried up more and more with each passing moment. "You can, um... just Bucky is fine. It's what he prefers."

"Of course," T'Challa said. His face showed no trace of judgment. He was always quietly understanding of Steve and Bucky's needs. For that, Steve would be forever grateful. "How have you been, Captain? Other than a fugitive, of course."

"Things have been... rocky. Hopefully today will solve some of that." Steve crammed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans.

He found some comfort in the cool metal that awaited his right hand.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Stark told us you decided to sign onto the Accords. I'm glad to hear that, really. It makes your visits a bit less... complicated."

Steve nodded, a flat smile working its way onto his face.

"That's the goal."

He and Natasha exchanged a quick glance. She gave him a reassuring smile that didn't do anything for his hammering heart.

Steve stopped short in the doorway behind T'Challa. It was familiar; Steve had been there so often that it had started to feel like a second home. The armchair and desk still sat across from the Bucky's empty cryotube.

"Hey, you okay?" Natasha's voice sounded far away and muddled. A cold hand was touching his forearm, but Steve couldn't break his attention away from the empty cryotube. "Steve, hey. It's okay."

He shook his head shortly and ran a hand over his face, trying to clear his head. The fog over his brain was strange and seemingly impenetrable.

"They'll bring him out in a minute." Natasha rubbed her thumb across Steve's clammy skin. He hardly felt it. "You should sit down for a minute, you're not looking so hot."

Steve gave her a stiff nod and moved robotically across the room to the desk. All he could do was perch himself on the edge. He didn't want to sit down. He couldn't relax enough.

"What's up?" Natasha's wide eyes blocked Steve's field of view as she stepped in front of him. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm okay," he said automatically. Then, before Natasha could voice how ridiculous he sounded, he tried again. "Just... nervous, I guess. If this is going to be the last time I see him for a while, I want it to be good. I want it to be right."

"Cold feet?" Tony called from across the room. Steve raised his head slowly. He simply didn't have the energy to engage with him. "They say that's normal. Though your circumstances are bit—"

"Can you just give it up?"

Steve whipped around at Bucky's voice, astounded by how well-rested he looked. He'd cut his hair short, shaved his scruff. It was like looking at one of the old pictures that Steve kept in his wallet.

Bucky crossed the room silently and stood next to Steve, who still couldn't make his mouth form a coherent sentence. Bucky wore the same white tank top and black pants as every other time Steve had visited.

He looked so  _well_. He looked happy. He seemed to shine more than ever. He didn't look ragged and burnt out anymore. That is, until his focus shifted to Steve and his smug smirk turned to a sympathetic smile.

"Hey, soldier. You're not looking too hot." Bucky reached out and wrapped his fingers around Steve's hand. "You doing okay?"

Steve forced himself to smile and gave Bucky's fingers a squeeze. "I'm okay. This is just... hard. I'm glad you waited until I could be here."

"I wouldn't just go back to sleep without saying goodbye. What kind of person do you think I am?"

Steve knew that Bucky's jovial nature and short haircut should have sparked fireworks in his stomach and made his skin ignite. He knew that he should have been flooded with nothing but happy memories of simpler times. But he couldn't tap into any of that. He could only sit and stare at Bucky's beaming face, gripping his hand like it was the last thing keeping him grounded to Earth.

"Here, I, um..." Stomach churning, Steve reached into his pocket with his free hand and produced the two pairs of dog tags he'd been hanging on to. "I wanted you to have them. I meant to... I should have given them to you before, but I—"

"Wow." Bucky's face fell into a nostalgic stare as Steve dropped the pile of silver into his open palm. "They look... new."

Steve shrugged, trying to remain placid. "I tried to keep them nice. Didn't want them to get dusty. Figured we might want them back someday."

"Wait." Bucky snorted and turned over the tags in his hand. "Didn't these... Aren't these supposed to be on mannequins in the museum?"

"Stealing from the government never hurt anyone important." Steve grimaced at Tony's interjection. Bucky lifted his head and gave Tony a flat smile, but Steve couldn't entertain him for another minute. He'd nearly forgotten that they were surrounded by a room full of people and the reminder of Tony's presence did nothing for his bad mood.

"Don't worry about it," Steve strained, choked by a knot of tears. He cleared his throat, hoping he could put off crying for a few more minutes. "I just asked them to mail them to me. They said it wouldn't be a problem to replace them."

"How..." Bucky's eyebrows pulled together tightly as he ran his thumb over the engraved letters of Steve's name and identification number. "How long have you had these?"

"I had them both on me when I went under." Steve closed his eyes and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. When he opened them, Bucky was staring at him just as intently. "I guess they wanted them for the Smithsonian exhibit so they just kind of..."

"Stole them from you," Bucky said. He let out a long breath through his nose and pulled the chain over his head. "Well, they're in the right place now. That's all that matters."

"Yeah." Steve sniffed and turned over Bucky's tags in his hand. His ran his thumb over the letters of his name before he put the chain around his own neck. "I thought it'd be a good thing for you to have. Even though you won't... you know."

Bucky jumped a bit when Natasha cleared her throat. He met her eyes but Steve couldn't face her. They exchanged a knowing glance and the sound of hurried footsteps followed as the room was cleared of everyone but the two men and one Wakandan doctor.

"Hey." Bucky gripped Steve's sweaty fingers again. "You know this isn't forever, right? It's not even goodbye. I'm just going to take a really long nap and when I wake up, things will be easier."

"Mm," Steve hummed, afraid that if he opened his mouth to speak, he'd lose it. He wanted this to be a good experience, not a sad one. "It's just tough to think about losing you again for some undetermined amount of time. That's all."

"Steve." Bucky chuckled quietly and brought their hands to his chest. "Hey, listen. You're not losing me. That's the exact opposite of what this is. We're doing this so we can all be safe and, someday soon, happy."

Steve let out a tearful laugh and pulled his hand out of Bucky's grip to lay it on his smooth cheek. It was strange after feeling scruff there for so long, but it was also so painfully familiar.

"It sure feels like losing. Like giving up." Steve tried to blink away his tears but the way Bucky's face shifted as he fought off his own emotions broke him. The wetness on his cheeks brought a burning sense of embarrassment over Steve's entire body. "It's not supposed to be like this."

"I know." Bucky sighed heavily and pulled Steve's head down to his shoulder. He had a firm grip on the nape of his neck, but his thumb moved in soft, soothing circles. "I know. It's messed up. It's  _not_  supposed to be like this. None of this was supposed to be like this. I was supposed to go over there, kick some Nazi ass, maybe lose a limb, and come home. You were supposed to stumble through life and probably die of a disease that's preventable now."

Steve huffed and turned his head toward Bucky's face. "You're terrible at this, you know that?"

Bucky shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"It's not supposed to be like this, but it is. Here we are. What are we gonna do about it now?" Bucky sniffed and planted a soft kiss to Steve's temple. "This isn't giving up. The only thing we're giving up is selfishness. We can't pretend that keeping me around isn't endangering people anymore."

"You were doing fine." Steve's voice was hoarse. He was trying to keep his crying under control but it was getting harder. His body was beginning to shake with sobs that didn't go unnoticed. "You weren't hurting anyone, it was fine. We were—"

 _"We_ were. Not everyone else, though." Bucky used his grip on Steve's head to pull them apart so he could look him in the eye. Bucky's face was distorted by Steve's tears, but he could still make out his furrowed brow. "You can't keep saving the world if you're worried about what I'm doing."

A single sob escaped Steve's lips. He squeezed his eyes shut as if that would make it any less real.

"I'm okay with that. I'll do anything—"

"That's the problem, Steve." Bucky cracked a small smile and pressed their foreheads together. "I know you'd do anything. I'd do anything, too. That's why I have to do this. I know you know that."

"I don't want to leave you here, Buck." Steve was hysterical, hardly able to keep his eyes open long enough to take in Bucky's face like he knew he should. "I'll go under, too. We can both come out when—"

"Shh, don't talk like that." Bucky kissed Steve's nose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. "Don't say that. You know that can't happen. They need you."

" _I_ need  _you_  more." Steve sucked in ragged breath and brought his hands to Bucky's cheeks. "Please don't make me do this without you."

"I'm right here." Bucky touched the dog tags through Steve's shirt. He wrapped his arm around Steve and pulled him off the desk and onto his feet. Though they were both a bit wobbly, their bodies met at the lips, where they fell into a long, impassioned kiss.

"Right here," Bucky breathed when they finally broke away.

A shadow of a smile made its way onto Steve's face for the first time that day. He held Bucky close for a long moment, breathing him in deeply, trying to savor the little bit of time they still had left. When they pulled apart, they realized, much to their chagrin, that there was still a nurse waiting patiently in the corner of the room.

"S-Sorry... um..." Bucky struggled, face immediately flushed beet red.

Steve was caught off guard by Bucky's stuttering more than he was by the realization they weren't alone.

"Not to worry, Sergeant Barnes. All in your own time," the nurse said. He bowed his head and took a step back, hands folded neatly in front of him.

Bucky looked back to Steve, flustered, and they both broke into unadulterated, unapologetic laughter. Even when they composed themselves and Steve's stomach and cheeks were sore, it felt so good. Everything suddenly felt a little more normal. Bucky looked like himself again. They were laughing.

Never mind that was a team of doctors patiently waiting to get Bucky back under cryo-freeze for an indefinite amount of time.

Never mind that Steve had signed the Accords less than twelve hours ago and his name would soon appear on a register of Enhanced People that would allow the government to keep tabs on him at all times. Never mind that Steve knew when he got home, he'd be filled with loneliness again.

The most important thing was that moment, when his stomach hurt from laughing too hard with the only person who mattered.

"The longer we drag this out..." Bucky was still catching his breath from laughing, but his face was fading back into a broody, furrowed frown.

"I know." Steve heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "Trust me, I know."

They stared at each other for a long moment before either of them made a move. Steve took a deep breath and gave Bucky a quick peck on the lips. He told himself it was the type of goodbye kiss someone would give a spouse before they went off to work.

It wasn't really even a goodbye. It was just a reminder, a routine. Although Steve and Bucky weren't fortunate enough yet to have the sort of routine they both craved, Steve could try.

"I love you," Steve mouthed, a true smile pulling at his lips.

Bucky mirrored his smile, though it turned into a full-out grin on his face as he mouthed back, "I know."

The nurse in the corner of the room quietly stepped forward. This time, Steve was as ready as he knew he'd ever be.

All at once, Tony, Natasha, and three other doctors had joined them.

"King T'Challa has told us that we must make it explicitly clear to both of you that while Captain Rogers is welcome to visit whenever he pleases, Sergeant Barnes cannot be brought out of cryofreeze each and every time."

Though the words struck Steve straight in his chest, he could see in Bucky's stoic posture that he'd already been told that. They each gave the nurse a short nod of understanding.

"It's not because we want to take anything away from you. It simply has to do with interrupting Sergeant Barnes' cryostasis as little as possible." The nurse glanced around at his fellows. They all nodded in agreement. "We've come to an agreement that Sergeant Barnes can be... thawed out, so to speak, every third month until our research is conclusive enough to counter his HYDRA programming."

Steve had to let that sink in for a moment. This wasn't as permanent as he'd thought.

Three months between being able to talk to Bucky would feel like lifetimes, he was sure, but it was better than not at all. It wasn't a terrifying, indefinite amount of time.

"Captain Rogers? Is that all right with you?"

Steve stood to attention at T'Challa's inquiry. He nodded a little too enthusiastically in response.

"Y-Yes. Yes, of course. That's—"

"More than you expected?" Bucky bumped shoulders with Steve before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Won't be so bad after all."

Steve's eyes welled up again, but this time he was overwhelmed with all of the euphoria he should have been feeling when Bucky first entered the room.

This was the way he'd wanted it to go. End on a good note. Go out smiling. Send Bucky off into sleep with good memories to dream of.

"Whenever you're ready, Sergeant Barnes."

**—**

"You did great, you know." Natasha delivered Steve his cup of coffee and snuggled up at her end of the couch. "I didn't expect you to be able to let go, but you did. You actually smiled. It was actually a little weird after all the brooding."

Steve nodded and held his steaming mug close to him. "Yeah, it definitely went better than expected. There were definitely a few moments when I didn't think I'd be able to do it either."

"That's totally normal. Whatever that means anymore. It was a lot of handle at once. You deserve a breather."

"Yeah." Steve tried to take a sip of his coffee but immediately recoiled when the near-boiling liquid made contact with his tongue. "A breather with the government tracking my every move."

"It's for your own safety. For everyone's safety." Natasha eyed the wristband Steve had been assigned when they'd landed back in New York that morning. "Though I will admit, they could have made them a little prettier."

"Yeah, yeah. Yak it up, Romanoff." Steve blew on his coffee, desperate for it to cool down enough for him to get a caffeine fix. "You're lucky you didn't get one of these."

"Look, it's not my fault you willingly volunteered to become an Enhanced four-score and seventy-five years ago." Natasha tossed her head back. "Besides, they took away all my toys. Without those, I'm just a helpless little lady."

"A helpless little KGB master assassin." Steve sneered and nodded toward the television. "Unmute that, will you? We're missing the movie."

Natasha snorted and reached for the volume remote."I cannot  _believe_  Steve Rogers is watching  _The Notebook_."

Steve rolled his eyes melodramatically and set his coffee aside, giving up on the notion of being able to drink it anytime soon.

"Anything is better than goddamn  _Manchurian Candidate_."

"I thought you'd appreciate the irony. "

Steve shot her a glance, fighting off a sarcastic smirk. "It was way too soon."

"It was funny." Nat scoffed, flipped her hair, and threw her legs across Steve's lap, her focus turned back to the passionate love scene on the TV. "Barnes will appreciate it when he wakes up."

"I'm sure he will," Steve remarked fondly. He tilted his head at the screen. Before Natasha could make a comment about how virginal and pure he was, he spoke up again. "He'll definitely appreciate this Ryan Gosling guy."

It was Natasha's turn to roll her eyes at him.

"Please, he practically  _is_  this Ryan Gosling guy." Steve shot her a look of pure amusement and disbelief. Natasha sat slack-jawed for a moment. "C'mon, you're joking right?"

Steve shook his head, a short laugh escaping his mouth.

"Pretty boy falls in love with a pretty girl he can't have. Parents don't approve, he leaves to fight in the war, everything is sad for a long time. Eventually, everything is mushy-gushy, albeit tragic in the end."

Despite the heat in his cheeks, Steve shook his head and pointed at the screen. They'd finally stopped having sex. Not that Steve  _entirely_  minded, but it was a bit weird to watch with Natasha. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, trying to look as pouty as he could.

"Nat, you just spoiled the entire movie. What kind person  _does_  that?"

Natasha flashed him a smile and leaned forward to pat his shoulder. Steve looked away from the TV and swatted her hand away, his face still contorted in a full-on pout.

"The kind of person who wants to remind you that happy endings aren't unrealistic. They just take time, and they're not always perfect."

Steve broke. He couldn't help it. A warm smile splashed across his face and for the first time in months, it wasn't even a little bit contrived.

"Wait," he said. He reached for the volume remote and muted it again. "Why can't  _I_ be Ryan Gosling?"

Natasha rolled her eyes and threw her head back as one the most genuine laughs Steve had ever heard poured from her lips. He could tell she was trying to form an answer, but under his fake-intense stare, she only continued to laugh.

"Just watch the damn movie, Rogers."


	9. Chapter Nine

** ENTRY 1: OCTOBER 3, 2017 **

_Buck,_

_Nat told me I shouldn't do this but I am anyway. I think it might help pass the time. Journaling always helped. I think feeling like I can talk to you will help, too. So here we are._

_Natasha has me watching all these movies tonight. She wanted me to finish off the list I made a couple years ago. She started a new one for movies we have to watch when you're back here._

_I couldn't talk her out of_ Manchurian Candidate _, so you'll have to sit through that one as soon as you're conscious. Sorry._

 _The first one we watched tonight was_ The Notebook _. She picked it on purpose, I'm pretty sure. It's definitely a chick flick and you'll kill me for saying this, but I cried a little. It hit a little too close to home at the end. It really got me thinking a lot about everything. About us._

_We both have this serum in us, you know? You survived that fall off the train, I've survived... a lot of things. So sure, we can handle physical things that should kill us, that's made itself pretty abundantly clear. I just can't stop thinking about what that will be like thirty, fifty, a hundred years from now._

_You said it yourself, who knows if we can age?_

_We've both spent a lot of time frozen. And for me it wasn't in some fancy scientific cryotube. What if that has something to do with why we haven't aged yet? Is that going to catch us to us?_

_Nat told me not to worry about this stuff and that we can talk to Tony and T'Challa's doctors about it sometime. She wanted to ease my mind and I'm sure it's because she knows what I'm thinking. I'm sure you do too at this point._

_I wasn't kidding when I said I'd under with you. If I'm going to start aging while you're asleep in there, I don't want to be out here saving the world anymore. If it's going to take a few years for them to develop something that can flush Hydra out of you—God forbid a decade or so—I don't want to keep going with my life and have you come out to see a middle aged man waiting for you._

_We can talk about all this in December when I visit for Christmas, I guess. I'm really looking forward to that. You're going to get such a kick out of this bracelet they gave me. It's like an ugly, clunky watch. I've already tried to get it off, so you can forget about that. I can't make it do anything without a fingerprint from authorized S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel._

_Oh, S.H.I.E.L.D., right. That's a little harder to explain. I might just save it until we talk to face to face. It's complicated. They're not Hydra anymore, but from what I can tell they haven't changed much. There's a new Director, which is taking some getting used to._

_I don't know a lot about how it works. I want to know as little as possible, you know? I don't want to be in that deep ever again. I'm glad not to be Captain America, "Captain Rogers," the man who's more than a man, the legend, the war hero. I don't want to try to live up to that anymore._

_It's just Rogers now. "Agent Rogers," actually._

_Like I said, I want to stay at arm's-length, do as little as I can without them getting on my back._

_I'll always help people. There's no denying that. I guess I'm just having a hard time with The Accords. I never wanted to see the world come to this._

_Then again I never knew what kind of world I was waking up in until recently. I'll admit, I'm still disappointed with some things. The fact that you're still in this world makes it a hell of a lot better, though._

_When you get out, you, me, Sam, and Nat should take a road trip. See if we can't find out where Nick Fury ended up after everything. I know you never knew him, but I think you'd get a kick out of each other, especially when you're more yourself._

_I love you, Buck. See you soon._

_Steve._


	10. UPDATE!!

Oh, hey!

 

I didn't think I'd be coming back here anytime soon or really at all. But after much thinking and a few nights of impulse, I have gathered some pieces (and even an outline) of a sequel to this story!! That being said, I'm not sure how soon it will actually come together or if it will at all, but I do have something in th works!!

 

PLUS, I'm already in the business of going back and making edits to this story because there are certain parts that I am unhappy with. I don't think there will be any crucial structural edits, so the storyline will remain intact, but there are definitely bits and pieces I'm looking to change.

 

Thanks for reading, and especially thank you to anyone who said they'd love to see more out of this story, because those people are what helped me decide whether or not I should move forward with the idea for a sequel I'd been wrestling with. x


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